


My Wayward Son (carry on)

by InTheShadows



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (and so does Ebb technically), (but she does a better job), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Child Abuse, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Nightmares, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Protective Baz Pitch, Protective Simon Snow, Ritualized Violence, Rituals, The Mage raises Simon, The Mage's A+ Parenting, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6801637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/pseuds/InTheShadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I promised to take care of him. How do you keep a promise like that? To take care of a child, when the child is the greatest power you know... And what does it mean to take care of power? Do you use it? Conserve it? Keep it out of the wrong hands?'<br/>The Mage makes s different decision about how to care for Simon. Instead of hiding him away, he decides to raise Simon himself. It works about as well as you would expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Wayward Son (carry on)

**Author's Note:**

> So... this thing. This is officially the longest story I have ever written. I would like to tip my hat to those writers who do this all the time. You have my deepest respect right now. This is also my first work in the Carry On fandom, so of course it had to be a monster. This thing haunted me for a good couple of months. I can't believe I wrote this. I can't believe I wrote it in 1st person. I can't believe I'm finally done. (I have definitely reached the 'fuck it I'm just going to post this and be done with it' phase of this fic.)  
> Hopefully there isn't any glaring ooc, but if they weren't Baz or Simon, I had trouble finding their voice. Sorry.

** Prologue **

** ************ **

** Simon **

  
  


Even after everything came out – what he did, how he did it, who he used – I still miss him. I think I am the only one at this point. Which is probably idiotic. But then Baz is always telling me what an idiot I am. “You're an idiot, mutt,” he complains. (Because that's what he always calls me.) And it's nice. Nice to know some things never change.

It's good they never change, because everything else has at this point. My entire world has been flipped upside down. So when Baz calls me an idiot with affection burning in his eyes, at least I know one thing is still right.

But still, I miss him. My first memory is him singing me nursery rhymes. He would lift me up and swing me around while he would sing. In my mind I can still hear his deep soothing voice. I can hear my own high pitched giggles. _That's_ the man I miss, not what he became. So maybe not so idiotic? Maybe...

My thoughts never really make sense, I'm use to it. But they're better than my words. I hate speaking. I stutter and I sputter and I shrug. Getting fully formed sentences out is too much effort some days. Baz and Penny have been trying to help, but not with much success. “Use your words Simon,” Penny told me once. I had a panic attack. She never told me that again.

At least no one tells me to speak up!

But my memories... The picture is so out of character for anyone else who knew him. But that was how I knew him first. Before everything went wrong. Before he became so distant. Before the rituals. Before he realized how broken I was. Before he became obsessed with fixing me.

Before all that, he was a loving Father.

But no one believes me when I tell them. They will list everything he has done wrong, all his faults, all the reasons I should hate him. Baz has a fully developed rant against him. (Rant? More like rants. Seven at least.) (And that's just off the top of his head. Give him some time and he can come up with more easily enough.)

Still... he stops when I ask him to. When I shake my head and burrow into his side. Then he wraps himself around me and strokes my hair. It's nice. (Baz _is_ nice. He just doesn't like to show it. “I have a reputation to maintain mutt, don't push it.”) 

Baz stops. Penny will stop. Ebb is always gentle about it, stopping before I ask. Everyone else won't. They babble on like they knew him personally. They don't. I am the only one... maybe. Almost. More than them anyways.

But who cares what they think? I don't like being around them. I don't like being around people period. Large crowds make me twitch and sweat and hide. Too many bodies, too many voices, too many opinions. Penny says you only need as many people as you have fingers on your one hand. If you go over, you have too many. I like this. I plan on following this. And Penny is smart, so she would know. Baz is smart too, but he doesn't say this. He usually just hugs me instead. 

Baz is the best boyfriend ever. Not that I've had any others. But he puts up with my inability to speak or think things through, my panic attacks, my nightmares and tears (but he has those too, so maybe those don't count?). He lets me talk... ramble ...about Father when I need to.

Of course he is under the impression he is getting the better end of the deal. As if I care about his sass, his angst, his self-consciousness, his drama queen-ness. That he's part of the Old Families. (I was taught to hate them. But I can't hate Baz.) The fact that he's a vampire. That part is kind of cool, actually. His fangs are wicked.

Not that he agrees with that. But he should. My boyfriend is a badarse. Seriously. The way he wields his wand is like a form of art. Beautiful. And his fire, his flames. Deadly. Lethal. And as easy as breathing.

Penny gets tired of listening to me brag about Baz, but I can't help it. I've been slightly obsessed with him ever since I first saw him in the catacombs all those years ago. There was something fascinating about him, even then. Something that drew me to him, even though I knew nothing about him. Something that made me watch him, instead of telling Father about him.

That was the second decision I made that changed my entire life.

The first was accidentally coming to Watford. And then, not so accidentally coming back. Secretly. Because at the time, no one knew who I was. No one knew I existed.

No one knew the name Simon Snow Salisbury at all.

  
  


** ************ **

** Book 1 **

** ************ **

** Simon **

 

“ Roses are red,”

Twirl.

“ Violets are blue,”

Twirl.

“ Sugar is sweet,”

Twirl.

“ And so are you!”

Twirl. A kiss on the cheek. Uncontrollable giggling.

That is my first memory. Everything was simple then. My world was one small cottage out in the woods, with one parent and any stray animal I ran into that day. Simple. Easy. Fun. But even then there were signs of things to come. (Not that I realized it then.) 

Father started reading to me right away. Read, read, read. He tried to cram so many words and phrases into my head, I'm surprised they didn't leak out my ears. Even when I would rather run around outside, he would want to read to me first.

“ One more story first Simon.”

“ Fine, but let's look at this book before we go.”

“ Don't you want to hear about how the Prince outsmarted the goblin?”

Even when we were outside, Father liked to sing nursery rhymes with me. He use to get frustrated when I was too fussy. When all I wanted was to run. He let me go. But as I got older, he became more reluctant. I think he forgot I was a little boy at times. But I couldn't help it. There were always so many words in my head. And none of them were mine.

Yes, I could talk. No I didn't like it. At first it was easy. I repeated what Father said back to him. But then he started asking questions. He wanted answers. Real answers, not one word answers, not shrugs or nods or shakes of the head. I was around four or five, I think, when I first started having issues. Around the time Father first told me I was the Chosen One.

“ You were prophesied Simon.”

“ You are the Greatest Mage ever born.”

“ You have a great destiny ahead of you Simon. How are you going to save our world if you can't talk? Now answer me!”

Pressure. Pressure is a funny thing. Some people do well under pressure. Some thrive on it. I don't. The more Father told me about how great, how powerful I was suppose to be, the harder talking became for me. Which is stupid. It wasn't like I really knew what he was talking about. All I knew was that I was going to grow up and be someone very important.

I once asked Father if I was a Prince. It made sense to me at the time. I was hidden away. No one knew where I was. I had special powers. I was being trained to defeat a great evil. To my mind, I was basically King Arthur with magic. I then asked if Father was Merlin, since he was the one training me. And if he was Merlin, was he really my Father? Or a wise old man who made it his duty to protect me?

I remember how Father laughed. How he picked me up and hugged me. He told me that, yes, he was really my Father, that no he wasn't Merlin. And that yes.

I was just like King Arthur.

That always stuck with me after that. Even years and years later, I still think of that. (But I know now he was wrong. Arthur was a hero. I wasn't.) I began to take my lessons more seriously. After all, if I was going to save my kingdom, I had to know how. I tried so hard to impress Father. To make him proud. It wasn't easy. I had to make myself sit and read instead of running off outside. I ground my teeth and stared scorch marks into the ground with my concentration on my words. I told myself it would be worth it.

It wasn't.

My attention span wasn't very long. I fidgeted when I should have been listening. Words didn't get easier. And then the worst of it – my magic was broken.

Father began teaching me magic as soon as he could. Maybe he thought that would help my speech problem. Maybe he was just too impatient. But he gave me my wand on my fifth birthday. I remember because that was my first present. It wasn't like Father neglected me. But we never celebrated my birthday. Instead we celebrated the solstice. Just like we didn't celebrate the other holidays, but the solstices and equinoxes instead. I never knew what I was missing. Father Christmas isn't real after all. I didn't even know my birthday was on the summer solstice until he told me that day.

“ You're a man now Simon. A man needs a wand. Make me proud.”

Oh how I tried.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't make my magic work right. It didn't flow like it should have. Father said it should be like a river. A river is always moving, always flowing, never still. It doesn't let anything stop it. Rocks and land will eventually give way to it if the river is powerful enough. I must be like a raging river. Nothing must stand in my way.

Instead it would clot. It wouldn't come and wouldn't come. And then, when it would come, it would explode. I had no control over it. One spell wouldn't work. The next would be doubled, tripled in power. I couldn't understand it. Neither could Father.

That is when everything started. Really started. Or I guess it was the second big beginning. The other was creating me. Father became harsher, less patient. He would yell and growl and glare. Gone were the gentle explanations, the laughter, the proud look in his eyes. He never hit me. Never that. But he pushed harder. I couldn't go outside until I finished all my reading. No dessert if I didn't get this spell right (and then no meal). Focus all the time. Concentrate. Use my words.

“ Tell me in full sentences what this reading means.”

“ Stop stuttering Simon and speak clearly.”

“ Use your words and tell me what you really think.”

“ That doesn't make any sense Simon. Be coherent!”

“ Expand your vocabulary.”

“ A shrug is not an answer!”

“ Use your words!”

“ Speak up.”

“ _** Speak up!” ** _

Use my words. Speak up. (I still hear that in my sleep. In my nightmares.) Oh how I tried. I tried so very hard. Even when Father tried to magic the words out of me, I tried to give them to him. I did. I really, really did. (Instead I would usually sick up.)

A six year old does not understand many things. But he does understand when his Father is disappointed in him. Upset with him. Hates him.

Father began spending more and more time out of the house. He would be away for days. And then weeks. And then months. He would come back with piles of books, muttering to himself. He would lock himself in his study until he was done. Then he would come out, try something new with me, fail and then disappear again. Soon he began just assigning me books instead. Eventually he stopped teaching me all together.

I think, there for a while he forgot I even existed at all.

That was fine with me. I stayed out of his way the best that I could. I didn't like the look in his eyes. They gave me nightmares. They shone like knives. I would wake up screaming some nights from images of killers with cold eyes chasing me with knives.

I became even more withdrawn, reclusive. Silent. I learned to be very, very silent whenever Father was around. There would be times when I accidentally made too much noise when he was in the middle of something. He would come stomping out of his study and yell at me to be silent.

“ Stop being so loud Simon. This is important.”

“ I am trying to fix you Simon. The least you can do is give me some quiet in which to do so.”

And then, eventually... “ _** Children should be seen and not heard!” ** _

That was always the worse. That one that I can admit did have a negative effect on me. (I want to go back in time and kill whoever started that bloody phrase.) Of course he would always reverse it. But it wasn't always right away. There was one time when I had that spell on me for a month. He forgot to take it off before he left again.

Father didn't always remember food either. When I was younger I lived off of a lot of oatmeal and jam. As I got older, I taught myself to cook with what I had. And learned what food was edible in the woods. And learned how to take care of our garden. (Learned there _was_ a garden and not just weeds, but vegetables too.) My clothes became worn and outgrown. My hair grew wild.

I must have looked like a cuddly put out for the rubbish. But I didn't care. I had my freedom. I would spend my days outside running and climbing and exploring. My freckle multiplied from the sun. I was strong and fast and agile. Or well, I liked to tell myself I was. Frankly I was a shrimpy waif of a kid. The wind could have probably knocked me over. The only reading I did was when something seldomly interested me or the increasingly rarer books Father assigned.

I had basically given up on talking to Father at this point. The only thing he wanted to hear was the progress I was making. And I wasn't making any. It seemed impossible to make him proud anymore. Even though I wanted to. I really did. But it seemed so hopeless.

I was seven when the rituals started. They weren't bad at first. Just symbols scrawled in the dirt and candles lit and dust sprinkled on me and words spoken over me. Simple. And then the dust became blood and the words longer, meaning less and less to me. They weren't even in English after the first few times... I don't think.

I don't remember much of the rituals. Not the later ones anyways. The ones that hurt more. Left scars. They are a blur of noise and light and pain and heat.

But to start off with, they weren't bad. It was only when he couldn't fix me that Father got more desperate and less... careful. He never did anything that would injure me permanently, but, well... Scars were hardly going to stop me, were they? Just as long as I didn't bleed out, I'd be fine.

I was eleven when they really began. Compared to later ones, the earlier ones don't really count. Nowhere near as intense. Painful. After that it became a yearly tradition. That's when I got my first scar. The first time I almost bled out. Or at least, I think so. I have a scar over my heart from where Father cut me. It was hot. When he did it. When it happen. I've never felt as much heat as right then. It felt like it was going to consume me. Burn me alive.

But Father was very excited with the results. He told me he felt it. He felt my magic react. He thought he was on the right track. I was in bed for days after that. But Father was happy, he thought he was making progress. The results were never as explosive as the first time, not as reactive (although reactive enough), but ever since then he has done a ritual on the summer solstice. Happy birthday to me.

But before that, it was fine. And by that time I had my own secret hideaway as well. Or not hideaway, but Father never knew I was there. He never would have imagined I would have the power to get there on my own. No, not the power. He knew I had plenty of that. The control. He never thought I would have the control. And, yes, the first time it was an accident. But after that...

I had found my way to Watford.

  
  


** *** **

  
  


I was outside, wandering around in the forest. Father had left yesterday, so I knew it was safe to be out here. He wouldn't be back for another month. Ever since that first ritual, he had been going out more and more and bringing back more books. Even more than when he first started trying to fix me. I did't know where he got them all. At this point, I thought he had at least one of every book in the world. But apparently not because he always brings more back.

But the main point is, Father was gone, so I was outside, practicing. I was trying to talk properly. My newest idea was to repeat something over and over again. That way the words would get stuck in my head and I could use them when I needed them. Maybe if I memorized them well enough, they will work for me.

I was once again determined to make Father proud. Or, well, I always was to some extend. But there were times I gave up because it seemed so impossible. Days when I laid around doing nothing because what was the point? I couldn't do anything right. I was broken. I was cracked. There was something fundamentally wrong with me.

I was a failure. How could I save the world if I couldn't use my magic? How could I fulfill the prophesy? I couldn't. I was useless until I could harness my powers for the greater good. To bring an end to the Revolution.

To bring about a new age of peace.

So I was wandering the woods, singing to myself.

“ Goosey goosey gander, whiter shall I wander?”

Over and over and over again.

“ Goosey goosey gander, whiter shall I wander?”

I wove my way through the trees aimlessly. The words were almost hypnotic, in their own way. Over and over, I could say them without really thinking about them. What they really meant. And then I started thinking about where I would want to wander. Where would I go?

Not that I had to think about it for long. I knew where I wanted to go. Watford. I wanted to go to Watford.

Father had begun to tell me about the school when I was little. When he would sit down and read stories to me. Sometimes he would make up his own instead. Most of the time these stories would have the villain (the Old Families) battling against the young hero (me). He taught me that they were the enemy. They had control of the world and they had to be stopped. And only the hero could defeat them once and for all. It all sounded very grand at the time.

It was always made me cheer loudly when the hero landed the final blow and won. It didn't bother me then that the final blow was always a killing blow. That he was teaching me to be just as prejudiced as they were, only in reverse. Everything was simple then. Black and white. Good and evil. The Old Families were bad and Father and I were good.

Good always triumphs over evil. That was at the bottom of everything. Good always won and I was good. I was the hero.

One name, though, stood out from the rest. Natasha Grimm-Pitch. She was the evil queen, the evil witch, the evil Headmistress. Father seemed to hate her more than anyone. Even more than the rest of the Old Families, more than the rest of the Pitch family. He got scary sometimes, when he talked about her.

Still, he said that she was in charge of the wonderful school. She continued to bar magical students if they didn't have enough power, if they weren't pure enough for her. She sounded very mean and very scary to my toddler self and I was always glad when she died in the stories.

And then, one day, Father was out and he came back very happy. This was when he still loved me, still cared. Didn't know I was broken. It was the same summer he gave me my wand. He came back so happy he picked me up and spun me around.

“ My darling boy, change is coming! The Revolution is on it's way! Progress is being made!”

He stayed with me for the rest of the day, grinning all the while. I couldn't stop giggling. I didn't know what any of this meant, but I was happy Father was so happy. He was always the most fun to be around when he was happy. I knew even then that he could be very scary when he wanted to be.

It happened again, months later. He came back giggling and skipping. I thought he looked silly.

“ Silly Fah'r.”

“ Oh? You think I'm silly do you? Well I'll show you silly.”

Then he tickled me till my sides hurt for laughter.

“ Wha' hap'n?”

“Your Daddy is now in charge of the Coven and Watford. _Me._ They can no longer ignore me. Oh, they tried, but now they can't. Because I told them. I told them so. But did they listen? Oh no they didn't. But this showed them. Their precious Natasha is dead and _I_ am in charge now! Me!”

On that day I learned the evil Headmistress had been killed by vampires attacking the school. I didn't understand much more than that. I knew the villainess was dead. But, also, that she died protecting the school. The babies. Father didn't sound concerned about it, so I thought that maybe they weren't in any danger. But they were _vampires_. Vampires were dangerous and evil, just like the Old Families. So how could she be bad if she died protecting the babies? Were there different levels of evil?

I didn't understand. But I never asked Father either. What if it was a stupid question? I was a big boy now, I didn't want to sound stupid.

After that, he began to split his time between the school and home. He would always come back home with stories to tell me, things to teach me about the school, places I should explore when I was old enough to go there. He never took me. He said it wasn't safe. That even though he was in charge, someone could still see me and even hurt me. I had to be like Arthur. I couldn't come to Watford until I could take care of myself.

But as I had more and more trouble with my magic, he stayed away longer and longer. It started off as coming back on the weekends and then every other and then once a month. Sometimes just months period. By the time I was eight, he came home maybe once a month, mainly for his books. He would swap them out, throw some food in the kitchen and, if I was lucky, new prepackaged clothes on the table. He would occasionally check my progress, be disappointed and leave again for another month at least. I was use to it.

So as I was wandering through the woods, I thought about how much I wanted to go to Watford. Father would never take me, so I had to find my own way there instead.

“ Goosey goosey gander, whiter shall I wander?”

“ Goosey goosey gander, whiter shall I wander?”

“ _** Goosey goosey gander, whiter shall I wander? Watford!” ** _

And then... I was there.

Not that I knew it at first. All I knew was that instead of trees, I was now surrounded by hills. Hills and goats. I had never seen a goat before. (There were lots of things I've never seen before.) So I walked up to one and started to pet it. It bleated at me and moved closer. I giggled. Funny goat.

“ Hey!”

I snapped my head up. There, coming towards me was a woman with dirty, tangled blonde hair, ratty looking clothes and a staff. You think I would have ran. If I was smarter, I probably would have. But this was the first person I had ever seen besides Father. I was mystified. Was this what other people looked like? Dirty and ratty like me? None of the people in the pictures of my books looked liked that. But maybe they were wrong?

“W ho are you?” she asked.

I just stared at her. Silently. Stupidly. Scared. What if she told Father? Would he be proud that I managed to go somewhere? Or would he be angry that another person saw me? Another person. What if she hurt me? That was why Father kept me hidden away. So no one could hurt me. I started to back away, terrified now.

“ Hey, now, none of that,” she said as she saw me ready to run, “It's fine there. I won't hurt you. Promise.” She stopped before she was within touching distance and kneeled down. “Better?”

I nodded. Yes. I still had time to run. But where was I? Did I make it?

“ Now then, can you tell me your name?”

I shook my head. No.

“ Where you're from?”

No. I couldn't tell her even if I wanted to (which I didn't). All I knew was that the cottage was in the woods. I didn't know which. I didn't even know the county it's in. All I knew were the trees and the safety of four sturdy walls.

“ Do you know where you  _ are _ ?”

No. Not for sure.

“ Watford School of Magicks.”

I gasped in surprise and wonder. Watford? I made it to Watford? All by myself too!

She smiled then. “Aye Watford. You know that name then. Can you tell me how you got here?”

“ Spell.”

“ A spell? Which one?”

“ Goosey goosey gander, whiter shall I wander?”

She stared at me. Just stared and then she started laughing. She laughed long and hard. I stood there, shifting from one foot to the other, awkward. What should I do? Maybe I should have ran away after all. “Oh my, aren't you a little power house. I've never heard of that one before. How old are you?”

I held up eight fingers.

“ Eight huh? Power house indeed. Want to come with me? The Mage'll get you back home safe.”

No! No, no, no, no, no, no. She couldn't take me to Father. Father couldn't know. What if he got angry? He is scary when he's angry. I didn't want him to be angry. And what if he hurts this woman? She saw me. And she seems nice. I didn't want Father to hurt her. My body trembled.

“ Hey now, what's this? The Mage won't hurt you.”

“ Fah'r ang'y,” I whispered.

“ Your Father will be angry that you transported yourself to Watford? It was an accident littelun. Don't worry. And if he is, it's just because he will worry when he can't find you.”

No.

“ You think he will be angry with you?”

Yes.

“ Even though it was an accident?”

Yes.

“So you don't want the Mage to take you back because your Father will be angry with you? Even though he should be proud and a little worried instead?”

Yes. Not that Father needs to tell himself, but she can't know that. No one can know who Father is. This was bad enough already. I didn't think Father would be happy if he knew.

Her face turned dark. I never knew what that meant when I read it before, but now I knew. Her face definitely turned dark. “Well then, I guess this'll have to be our little secret, won't it.”

Yes.

“ Can't you talk properly?”

“ Don' like ta. Hard.”

She nodded. “Well then, maybe we can practice sometimes. No one else to hear you but the goats. And they never laugh if I mess up either.”

Maybe.

“ Ebb,” she said, as she stuck out her hand.

“ Simon,” I told her and shook it.

She smiled at me again. “Nice to meet you. Any ideas on how to get home?”

Yes.

“ Same spell?”

Yes.

“ Careful then. And come back any time. Be nice to have someone besides the goats here.”

Yes. I gave a wave. “ _** Goosey goosey gander, whiter shall I wander? Home!” ** _

Which is how I befriended the goat herder on my first accidental trip to Watford. Ebb became my first and only friend. She is probably the only reason I stayed sane after Father stopped talking to me 

She taught me what she remembered from school, cut my hair, fed me, gave me new clothes if Father forgot and tried to teach me how to talk properly. Although it didn't always work. She was the only person I had and I couldn't spend all of my time with her. I didn't want to. Too long and I would fidget too much. I would have to run.

And I still didn't like talking. It was simpler to take what I wanted. Or shrug. Shrugging is good. I liked shrugging. And nodding. Or shaking my head. I had no problem there.

Ebb didn't push. That was the best thing about her. She never pushed me to do something I didn't want to do. I didn't want to talk? Fine, she would instead. I didn't want to listen? She would let me play with the goats. I couldn't be around her anymore? She would tell me where it was safe to run, if Father was at the school or not, where to explore.

I was very good at exploring. Between the places Father told me to go, Ebb suggested and I found on my own, I knew the school like the back of my hand. I think I even knew it better than Father did. There were places I would go that he never mentioned. Places he would have if he had known about them.

My biggest achievement was finding the nursery. Ebb told me the wards hid it after the vampire attack. But I found it. It was at the very bottom of the Weeping Tower, very well hidden. But I found it. It was dusty inside. And dark. But then the torches on the wall lit and I could see the paintings on the walls. The carvings on the border. The white hare on the ceiling.

I ran back to tell Ebb after I was done, excited. The next time I saw her, she told me she couldn't find it. But I could. I always could.

So Ebb was great. I thought she was the best person ever. Even more so than Father. Even though she cried a lot. She always seemed sad, no matter what I did to try and cheer her up. I made it my goal to make her smile as much as I could. Ebb looked much prettier when she smiled then when she cried. So I tried to help.

She would never tell me what was wrong, at first. But slowly, sentence by sentence, she would sometimes tell me. She would tell me about her twin brother who died. She would tell me stories of the things they did when they were in school. But I never pushed her. Just like she never pushed me. I didn't want to be mean. I never liked it when Father pushed. But Ebb never did, so I wouldn't either.

I can admit that I had a bit of a kid crush on her. I never did anything about it, but I think she could tell. But how could I help it? She listened to me and fed me and taught me and hugged me. Ebb gave the best hugs. We would sit beside each other and she would wrap her arm around me and pull me to her side. I would wrap my skinny arms around her waist and just stay there. It was nice. Very nice. I missed it. Father hadn't hugged me since I was six. When he realized what a disappointment I was. Sometimes I would move closer to her so it would be easier for her to reach me.

I adored Ebb.

She got me through my first heartbreak. I was eleven and miserable and weak from the ritual that left a scar on my chest. Father had told me that I couldn't go to Watford. That he would have liked to take me, but my magic was still too broken. The Chosen One couldn't be broken. He would fix me and then I could go. I nodded and buried my head under the blankets. The next chance I got, when Father had left, when I was finally strong enough, I went running right into Ebb's arms.

I had been so excited. I was finally going to be officially allowed at Watford. No more hiding. I could see Ebb whenever I wanted. I could go to classes. I could meet other kids, no matter how terrifying that sounded. But no. Because I was still broken.

I ran right to Ebb because Ebb didn't care that my magic was broken. She helped when she could and told me not to worry about the rest. She told me what Headmistress Pitch told her, that power did not have to be a burden. It doesn't have to be my destiny.

And wasn't that a shock to my system. Not only did Ebb scoff that I was suppose to the the Chosen One, that I was prophesied, but Natasha Grimm-Pitch, the villainess of my childhood stories, wasn't evil. She was dark. She fought against reforms. But she wasn't evil. Ebb looked upset when I asked her if she was. Her face got dark again.

She gave Ebb her job. She let her stay. She died protecting the nursery. Protecting her son. I never knew she had a son. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch the Third. What a mouth full. I'd never tell people my name if I had one like that. I'm glad I'm just Simon. (Just Simon. I don't even know my last name. I've never thought to ask Father before.) I would tell people to call me Ty instead. Or Baz. Baz. I think I like that better than Ty. Baz Pitch. I can say that.

But Natasha Grimm-Pitch. I didn't know what to think when Ebb told me. I never had thought Father could be wrong before. But could he be? Are parents able to be wrong? I wasn't ready to think about it. And what was the point? She was dead. But her son wasn't. Her son, who is the same age as me. Her son, who lost his Mother when I got my wand. And I certainly wasn't ready to think about why Ebb disbelieved it was my destiny to save the world. Never mind that sometimes, in the dark of the night, I did the same thing. Why me? How? My world shook enough.

And so I just cried on Ebb's shoulder instead.

Afterward she fed me tea and biscuits. Spot sat at my feet and looked up at me, begging. I named him Spot because of the black spot around his eye. I'm not very good as naming things. Ebb tried to cheer me up, but she wasn't very successful. I had looked forward to this for years. Even after I found a way to get to Watford by myself. It wasn't the same as being a student.

But now I could never go. Father said I can come after he fixes me. But I didn't think he could. It's been years and he was always looking. If there was a way, he should have found it by now. But he hasn't. He never will. I was going to be broken forever.

I waved goodbye to Ebb and went back home. I didn't understand why this spell always works, yet even the simplest  ** Stay put  ** would go wrong. It didn't make any sense. It never does.

Maybe if Father knew I could get to Watford already, he would let me go. That would show him I'm not completely useless. But no. I couldn't. Because what if he got angry? What if he didn't let me go back? I wouldn't survive if he didn't let me go back. I had nothing else. Father told me I was King Arthur, but I'm not. I was the court jester. I'm not important, but at least I'm at Camelot. (The Arthurian legend may be the one thing I still really read.) (I don't think Father is Merlin anymore.)

And so the start of school came and went without me. I was tempted to watch the first day celebration – the picnic, the Crucible, the other kids – but I didn't. I was too worried Father would see me. It took me a week to work up the nerve to visit again. It didn't look any different than the last time I was there, but it felt different. With Father's words echoing in my head, I felt like an outsider for the first time.

I went straight to Ebb and the goats. She had food waiting for me and new stories of the new students. She told me about the picnic. She described the fireworks. She explained how roommates are selected. The last one sounded really interesting. I pictured it for myself. Standing around the fire. Feeling the pull. Meeting the person you will room with for the next eight years. It sounds wonderful. But what if...

“ Odd number?”

Ebb nodded. “Then someone gets their own room. It's always so sad when that happens. They are missing part of the experience,” her eyes teared up and she wiped them away. “Poor littluns. Poor Basilton. He was the one left out this year.” She wiped away more tears.

Basilton. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch the Third. Baz Pitch. He didn't get a roommate because there was an odd number of boys. Was I suppose to be his roommate? Is it my fault? I push the question out of my mind, not wanting to think about it. I still didn't know what to think about the Pitch family – or any of the Old Families. Father hated them, but Ebb didn't seem to mind them. She didn't think they were that bad.

Time went on. Weeks passed and then months and years. I rarely saw Father except on the holidays. I practically lived at Watford. I knew every nook and cranny of the school. I was positive I knew it even better than Father by now. I roamed the school during the day and only went back to the cottage when night came.

My favorite place was still the nursery. Ever since I found it the first time, I had always been able to find it again. I liked it in there. It made me feel safe. Completely safe. Nothing could ever touch me if I was in there. I was Watford's child and Watford would keep me safe. At least that's what I told myself. I even slept there a few times when I didn't want to face the darkness of the cottage. But I never made a habit of it. Father must never know.

One of my hobbies was people watching. I would find a hiding spot and watch all the other kids go to and from class, read on the grass, play on the football pitch. I would pick out my age mates and watch how they spent their days. I had ones I liked better than others. There was one girl I really liked watching because of her hair. That first year it was bright red. I had never seen a red so bright before. Every year after that, it was a different color, including blue, purple and green. And I liked her glasses. They were pointy. They made her look smart. There was another girl who looked like an angel. And a boy in a seat with wheels. (Ebb had to explain what a wheelchair was.)

But one boy I avoided looking for was Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Thinking about him made my head hurt. And what was the point anyhow? I was never going to talk to him. I was never going to talk to anyone. Except Ebb. And Father, when he felt like it. Two people was enough. I didn't think I could handle another. So I never tried to find him.

But I knew I would know him when I saw him. Ebb said he looked like his Mum and her portrait was hanging up on the wall. I looked at it a couple of times before. She looked pretty. Her son would be pretty too. Could boys be pretty? I was certain Baz could be. Not that I had any plans to ever see him.

Until one day, I did.

I was fifteen and wandering the catacombs  ** Silent as a ghost.  ** That was another spell that I could get right. That I had to get right. Father didn't like to be reminded of me often and I hated being silenced. So I got the spell right.

I had no goal in mind that night. It was one of the rare times I had stayed at Watford, but couldn't sleep. Usually when I had trouble sleeping, I would watch the stars at the cottage. I didn't always sleep well. Nightmares were a problem as well as restlessness. But I liked the catacombs. They were peaceful and easy to get to. Hardly anyone ever visited them. That night, though, there was someone there.

I heard them before I saw them. There was an echo down there so it was easy to silently sneak up on them. At first all I could see was black hair atop a skinny uniformed covered body. But then they – he – turned and I covered my mouth. He was draining a rat. Very messy. He almost seemed embarrassed about it. But he was drinking blood.

Not much registered that first time. When I left, it was with a head full of questions. I hate those. Nothing good comes from questions. But I had them. The first was 'Should I tell Father?'. Then 'Should I tell Ebb?'. Finally 'Should I tell anyone?'. I knew I should. Someone should know there is a vampire at Watford. Vampires are evil. But he didn't seem evil. He seemed self-conscious. And scared. Maybe I should watch him instead. If it gets too serious, then I could tell someone.

Then again, what were the chances a vampire went to Watford without Father knowing? He knew everything. Or that's what I use to think. But... what are the chances that Father would let him live? I had better just watch him first.

So I did. I stalked him through the catacombs that entire first year. It didn't take me long to realize who it was. Pitch. Baz Pitch. I knew then exactly what Father would do if he knew. But he didn't seem to be a danger to anyone. If anything he was helping with the rat population. They were bad down there before. And... he was turned the day his Mum died. He had to of been. He was five. Could a five year old be evil? I didn't think he was evil. I thought he was fascinating. There was something about him. I could never figure it out, no matter how hard I looked. And I did look. I had to make sure he wasn't up to anything. But he wasn't. He looked sad. Not evil. His grey eyes always looked so sad.

After that first year, I stopped watching him every night. But I still watched.

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch the Third.

  
  


** ************ **

** Book 2 **

** ************ **

** Simon **

  
  


Everything really started when I was eighteen. It should have been my 8th year at Watford. My last year. But Father still wouldn't let me come. I was still broken. My magic still didn't work, even after all of the rituals he performed on me. There were no results. Nothing helped. It was frustrating. Father was always in a bad mood after them. More likely to go off on me.

I don't like to admit it, but those are the times Father scares me. My secret fear is that one day he will go too far. But I can't stop him. So I don't admit it. Not even to myself.

I'm wandering the catacombs. Again. Ever since I saw Natasha Grimm-Pitch's son down here the first time, I followed him around. I still do. Not because I think I need to. But because I want to. There is something about him. Ebb says I should introduce myself. Not that Ebb knows that Baz is a vampire. Or where I watch him. But she knows I do. She always smiles when I mention him. Not that I mention Baz much. Just... sometimes it slips.

But there is no way I could ever introduce myself to Baz. When I imagine it, it always goes badly. Why would he want to talk to a ratty, half feral boy who still can't hold a proper conversation? He is so posh and so handsome (so pretty) that he would never give me a second glance. And that's before he knows who my Father is. He'd probably bite me out of spite.

But I still like to keep an eye on him. So I would follow him sometimes. Not every night. It messes with my sleeping schedule too much. When I can sleep, anyways. But a couple times a week. No more than four. Really.

So I am wandering the catacombs during the first week back. And I don't see Baz. I don't think about it too much. Or I try not to. I know sometimes he goes into the Wavering Wood during the day to hunt. But only rarely. Not at the start of the school year. The rats had all summer to repopulate. Then the second week comes. I don't see Baz. I try not to worry. I try not being concerned. But by the third week I am.

I'm worried enough to try spells to find him. I walk the halls calling **Come out, come out, wherever you are!** And **Scooby-Dooby-Doo, where are you!** Nothing. Then I ask Ebb and she tells me she hasn't seen him.

“You worried?”

“Maybe you just haven't seen him.”

“Always do.”

She nods.

“What if somethin' happened?”

“I'm sure he's fine. There's probably a good reason why he's not here. Although...”

“Although?”

“It's odd. I can't see a Pitch dropping out. Especially not with how much his Mother loved this school.” She wipes away a tear. Ebb always cries about the Headmistress.

“Tell me if you see him?”

“Of course Simon. I'll look out for your boyfriend.”

She likes to tease me about that. I deny it, but that doesn't stop her. She doesn't believe me. Ever. But the main thing is she hasn't seen him. So I continue looking. Not just the catacombs, but the entire school. Every hiding place I knew of, I look. He isn't here. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch the Third is officialy missing.

And I have no idea what to do.

I know Ebb is worried about me. She always feeds me when I visit now. She asks me when I am sleeping. She tries to distract me. Not that it works. I'm worried and nothing can stop me. Nothing will until I know that Baz is safe.

You would think I wouldn't be so worried about a vampire. Vampires are able to take care of themselves. They are fast, strong, agile. They are vicious during a hunt, I've heard. But I am. Because this isn't just any vampire, but Baz. And I've never seen Baz eat anything bigger than a rat. Or a sandwich. I've noticed he sometimes brings food with him. He eats after he has had a couple of rats. I wonder why. But I don't want anything to happen to Baz. Baz is... well, Baz.

Alright, so maybe Ebb has a point. But I'm never going to tell her that.

One night I am feeling desperate enough to check his room. I have never been in there before. I was worried he might smell me if I did. I like Baz's room. It is at the top of the Mummer's House. It has a nice view of the school. And he has it to himself.

That's when it happens.

“You.”

I turn. There, standing right in front of the window is Natasha Grimm-Pitch. A Visiting.

“You,” she repeats, “Where is my son?” She demands.

I shake my head. “Missing.”

“I know. Where is he?”

I shrug. “Don' know.”

“You are the Mage's boy. You have his look. Has he done something with my son? Where is he?”

I shake my head again. “Don' know. Really.” I don't. I have been searching so hard. But I can't find him. Why would she think Father is involved? Does she have proof? Not that Father would tell me, even if he is. Father doesn't talk to me. And now I am talking with Baz's Mum. Instead of Baz. This is bad.

“Find him. Tell him to avenge my death. Look for Nicodemus. Find him.” She tells me, very sternly. Very angrily.

“How? Nicodemus? Ebb's twin brother?” I'm not suppose to know about Ebb's twin. His name was stricken from the Book. But she had told me what really happened to him eventually. It helps her to talk about him. Besides, who would I tell? Her goats? Father?

“Yes. You know of him?”

I nod. Yes. “Ebb told me. She raised me,” I add, like I need to defend her. “She likes you.”

“You follow my son.”

Yes.

“You know what he is.”

Yes. A vampire. “Pretty,” I say instead.

“Find him. Protect him. You have my blessing.”

What? Blessing for what?

“Find him. Give him this,” she kisses me gently on my forehead. “Find him,” she orders one last time before fading from view.

Alright then. I take off running. I go straight to Ebb.

“Simon? What's wrong?” she asks when I wake her up. 

“Visiting,” I say. My speech gets worse when I get too worked up.

“Really?” She looks happy for me. “From who?”

“Baz's Mum.”

“Natasha Visited you?” She looks shocked. The she a wipes away a tear. “Why?”

“Baz's missing.”

“She told you this? She couldn't find him?”

No. “More. Find him. Find Nicky. Avenge her.”

“Nicky?” More tears. “She told you to find Nicky. Does this mean he knows about the vampire attack?”

I shrug. Probably. But she didn't give me much to go off of. I have no idea where to start. That's why I came to Ebb in the first place.

“I can find Nicky,” she admits. “I talk to him every Christmas.”

I nod. Good. I don't care that she knows how to find him even though it was forbidden. She has already told me about him anyways. And I don't see why everyone else felt so betrayed about it. It is insane to go to the vampires. But that doesn't mean he betrayed magic. (Does it? I know it means he betrayed Ebb. Abandoned her. Left her alone. But did he betray magic as well?)

“But he wasn't there. I checked with Mistress Mary. He wasn't involved in the attack.” Poor Ebb, I hated making her cry. Even if she cries all the time anyways.

“Believe you.”

“Thank you Simon. Was there anything else?”

“Blessing.”

“What? Fuller sentences Simon. Concentrate.”

“Gave me her blessing. For Baz. Find him. Protect him. Tell him.”

Ebb laughs. “I'm not the only one who sees it then. I told you Simon, talk to him.”

“Have t' now.”

She smiles through her tears. “Yes you do. Did she give you any other clues? I can't leave Watford for long to look for him.”

No.

“Well firecracker, any spells you can use?”

She calls me firecracker sometimes because of my magic. She told me it crackles like a fire. And it explodes like a cracker does. She is powerful, almost as powerful as me. But she can't do what I can do, because her magic isn't broken. I can do impossible things. I am a firecracker. Her little power house.

I shrug again. “Try.” It must be serious if Ebb is asking me about my magic. Normally she doesn't push. She teaches me, but only when I want to listen. And she never suggests spells like this. It must be bad. (It is bad, but it must be worse then I knew.)

She nods. “Alright.”

“Alright.” I walk away, not wanting to try anything in front of her. It is embarrassing. I don't like doing magic in front of people. It either doesn't work or it works too well. I'm not even sure which spell to try. A nursery rhyme? Those usually work the best for me. Which one? Do I need a location spell? Or can I go to a person instead of a place? Probably. It sounds illogical enough for it to work.

“ _** Goosey goosey gander, whiter shall I wander? Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch the Third! ** _ ”

I use his full name. Ebb told me using a person's full name makes the spell work better. Makes it harder to resist. Still. What a mouthful. Hopefully I said it right.

And then, just like the first time I came to Watford, I go to Baz.

It is dark and it smells and trash covers to floor. I have to let my eyes adjust. When I do, wherever I am looks even more depressing than on the first glance. I don't see anyone either. Still, I move quietly. “ _ **Silent as a ghost!”**_ I whisper.

Then I see it. The coffin in the corner. Oh no.

I walk over to it. Locked. But I know how to pick locks. I learned when I was younger and bored. I pick it and opens it up. Inside is a very pale, very sick looking Baz Pitch. The spell did work. I found him. Thank Merlin and Morgana. I found him. Gently I touch his shoulder. He opens his eyes.

  
  


** Baz **

  
  


Something touches my shoulder and I startle awake. The numpties don't touch me. That's one blessing at least. They never touch me. They just throw in some blood everyday and lock the lid again. Just blood. No food. Apparently they don't know I need both. But then again what do you expect from numpties.

Days pass and blur. I have no idea how long I have been in here. I have no idea what they want. I feel myself slipping away. I need to slip away. To survive. To stay sane. I have nothing else to hold onto.

So it is a shock when I open my eyes. The first thing I see are blue eyes. Bronze curls. Moles on golden skin.

He smiles at me. “Awake. Good. Need to leave.”

“Who are you?” I demand, not moving, not believing. What is going on? “Where are we? What is happening?”

“Rescue. Leave now. Explain later.” He tugs at my sleeve. “Come.”

“How do I know you aren't working with the numpties?”

“Don', but not. Leave. Now.” I can tell he is getting frustrated. Good.

“Are you a simpleton? What kind of an idiot can't speak in full sentences?” I mock, feeling the need to lash out. And he seems to be an easy target. Convenient. Here.

But then I hear it. Movement. The numpties, they are waking up. “Aleister Crowley,” I curse as I scramble out of the coffin. My leg buckle. They did something to it when they kidnapped me. But I am out.

“ Hold on,” my oh so mysterious rescuer orders. Then he grabs my waist and says “ _** Goosey goosey gander, whiter shall I wander? Watford!”  ** _ Which is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. What kind of a spell is that?

But it works. I recognize the place where we land. Behind the barn with the goats, hidden from view. I turn and get my first go look at the idiot who saved me. Blue eyes and bronze curls. Golden skin with moles. Skinny, far too skinny. Torn and thread worn clothes. Fingerless gloves. A happy grin. Beautiful.

“Simon!”

We both turn and the boy – Simon – waves. “Ebb! Worked!” He sounds ecstatic.

Ebb the goat herder walks over to us. She is crying. “You did it Simon,” she praises. What is he, a dog? If he is, he is a mutt for sure. “Dare I ask what spell you used?”

He shrugs “Goosy, goosey.”

She laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. “Well done my little powerhouse. Come on, let's get you cleaned up,” she says as she turns to me. “Alright?”

I nod, but I'm lying. The last thing I am is alright. She turns to Simon again. “You know a safe place for him to stay?”

He nods.

“Safe place? I'm going to class tomorrow.” I have already missed Merlin knows how much. I am not missing any more. I refuse. No Pitch has ever dropped out of Watford and I refuse to be the first. Kidnapping or no, I will finish.

Ebb frowns. “No you aren't. You have just been kidnapped. It was a Visiting kidnapping. Someone wants you out of the way. You are not going to class.”

Visiting? Who Visited her? And why would they tell her about me? Unless... no. “What? Tell me what is going on? I deserve to know.”

“You do. Which is why we're going to tell you. But we are also going to keep you safe. Simon knows where to hide you until we can get this straightened out. Come.”

I follow her this time and her mutt walks along side me. I look over at him and he smiles and blushes. Weird. Cute, but weird.

We walk into the barn and she puts on some tea. Then she sets out a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of fruit. “Help yourself, but take it slow. Don't know how long you've been gone, but you don't want to upset your stomach.” She assumes I haven't been fed. I must look as bad as I feel.

I slowly pick up an apple and bite into it. I don't look up as I chew. I hate eating in front of people. But I have no choice right now. I'm so hungry. Beside me, Simon happily dives into the plate of sandwiches. He eats like a dog too. This boy is a disaster. Was he raised by wolves? Or goats, rather? I raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugs. I'm starting to think that is all he can do. Shrug and string enough words together to almost make sense. “What's happening?” I demand again. When are they going to answer?

Ebb hands me a mug. “Your Mum Visited Simon and told him you were missing.”

“ My Mother Visited  _ you _ ?” I turn swiftly and stare at the boy like the mutt he obviously is.

He nods. “Couldn'a find you. Told me to.”

“Why you?”

He shrugs. Oh this is going to get old. Fast. “Was there. Knew before. Pass on message. Find you. Find Nicodemus. Avenge her.”

What? “ _ What _ ?” Normally I am good with words. I can make a speech in a minute flat. But there is something about this boy that makes me speechless.

He nods.

Ebb takes over. “What Simon is saying is that your Mum passed on a message for you. The Veil is closed now, but she told Simon what you need to know. I know how to find Nicodemus, so you don't have to worry about that. But she did say you need to avenge her. That's why you need to stay hidden while you recover. Someone clearly kidnapped you so you wouldn't find this out. I know what school means to you, but you have to wait. The danger isn't over yet.”

“No you don't.” She doesn't have any idea what this school means to me. What it represents. How could she? How could anyone?

She sniffs. “Not fully, but I have an idea. Besides, staying safe is what your Mum would want.”

No it isn't. I know what my Mother would do if she could. What she would say. I'm disregarding her wish with every breath I take. I should have ended it long ago. But I'm selfish. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look over and the mutt kisses me on the forehead. “Wha–?”

“Last part of message. Passing it on.” He grins and goes back to his sandwich. His fifth already. I look back down at my apple. Had Mother really wanted to kiss my forehead? Does this mean she understands? Or is it that she just doesn't know what her son became? That he turned into a monster? I take another bite. I will have to go hunting later. I feel like I can drain a whole deer.

“Who is Nicodemus?” I ask, dismissing the kiss.

“No one,” Ebb answers unconvincingly.

I raise an eyebrow.

“No one you need to know. I can talk to him, that's all you need to worry about. It'll take a few months, so you'll need patience, but I can.”

“I could,” Simon offers.

“No you can't. I am not sending you to talk to Nicky. He probably wouldn't tell you anyways. He never was very trusting.”

Nicky. Obviously someone she knows well. But I have never heard his name before. What is his connection with my Mother's death? What is really going on?

I turn to the mutt again. “Who are you?” I ask again.

“Simon.”

“Simon what?”

He shrugs.

“You cannot possibly tell me you don't know your last name. What is it? Who is your family? Why have I never seen you at Watford before?” I would remember you.

He shakes his head. Infuriating.

“He really doesn't,” Ebb tells me.

“What?” Crowley, here we go again.

“Doesn't know his last name. I don't either. His Father does, but he never bothered to tell him.”

The way she says 'Father' is like how my Aunt Fiona says 'the Mage'. And that never means anything good. I look at her. Surely she can't mean... But the proof is right in front of my eyes. My lip curls in disgust. Children are a blessing to magic. Every child is a gift. That is why there are no orphans, no abuse. We need every child we can get. So to find a clearly neglected, probably abuse child, is a disgrace to the family name. The child should have been taken away long ago.

She shrugs, helpless. I read what she isn't saying. How she has clearly done what she could, but can't do more. She tried, but it isn't enough.

Simon picks up another sandwich. Who in the world is this mutt's Father? Doesn't he have any other family? He has to. There may be mutts in this world, but there are no strays.

But neither of them give anymore answers. I go back to eating, making sure my fangs stay hidden.

  
  


** *** **

  
  


It was late when I arrived at Watford. Either late night or very early morning, depending on how you look at it. We need to wait until it is night again for me to sneak back into my room for a shower and new clothes. I curl up in a corner by a window. Normally the light would bother me, but I don't want to be in the dark right now.

It doesn't take long for me to fall asleep. As I do, I can hear the goat herder above me, casting spells  “ _** Get well soon!” ** _ , “ _** Early to bed, early to rise!” ** _ . It feels nice.

When I wake up it is night and Simon is already awake. Ebb is asleep, but that's to be expected. “Come on mutt,” I mutter to him, in a foul mood. The sleep helped, but nowhere near enough. I feel like shite.

The boy follows beside me, walking so silently I would swear he is a ghost himself. Although I'm technically leading the way, he doesn't act like he needs directions. How well does he know the school? How is he even here, if he isn't a student? And he isn't. Neither of them said he was. A boy who does not know his last name is not going to be at Watford. So why is he here?

In my room I take a deep calming breath and then a long steaming shower. It does wonders for my nerves, if not for anything else. I put on a clean uniform and pack the others up, along with my other essentials. Not that I know what I need. Or where we're going.

“Mutt, what do I need to bring?” I turn and see him sprawled out on the empty bed on the other side of the room. He looks comfortable there. Like he belongs. Does he? Is this my missing roommate? Ridiculous thought.

He shrugs. “Nursery.”

I freeze. “The nursery. What about it?”

“Where we're going. Safest place. No one can get in.”

“The Weeping Tower swallowed the nursery long ago.”

“What people think. Not true. Can find it. Easy. No on else though.”

“You idiot, that is a terrible idea. What if something happens? What if we get stuck?” What if I can't handle it?

He looks at me and then gets up and walks over. He stands right in front of me. “I'm sorry,” he says, sounding sincere. 

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I got my wand. Your Mother died. Same summer. Not right. Sorry.”

“That doesn't make any sense. Crowley, mutt don't you know how to make complete sentences? How to be understandable?”

“Hard.”

Hard. It's too hard. Chomsky. “How many people do you know?”

He looks confused.

“People, you know, the thing you are? How many do you know?”

“Three.”

Three. “And how many do you talk to on a regular basis?”

“One.”

One. Dear Merlin and Morgan and Methuselah. “Who?”

“Ebb.”

“And the other two?”

“Father. You.”

I want to slam my head into the wall. I want to pull at my hair. I want to tear this Father apart. Has he never heard of decent parenting? Does he even try? He can't. There is no possible way this man is trying. Even the stupidest of parents know their children need interaction with other people to develop. No wonder he is a disaster. He never had a chance. But soon as I can, I am going to give him one.

Yes, I want to help the incredibly adorable mutt. Because he is hot. Won't my Father be so proud. “Come on then, let's go.”

Simon gives me another smile and heads off in front of me. But instead of going to the Weeping Tower, he goes to the White Chapel instead. Next he's going to tell me the only way to get in is through a secret passage way through a bookcase. This better not turn into a James Bond movie. But no, he goes down into the catacombs instead.

I shiver. It is so dark down here. Too dark. It's too dark and I can't see, I can't see. What if they come for me again? I won't be able to see them. How will I see them? It's too dark. Everything is closing in. Too dark, too dark, too–

“ _** Star light, star bright!” ** _

And then there is light. I look up from where I ended up huddling against the wall. Simon is kneeling in front of me, his wand lit like a torch. “Was that even a spell?” My voice trembles and cracks as I ask. Pathetic. A vampire who is afraid of the dark.

He shrugs. I vow then and there to break him of that cursed habit. Words. He will use words. Or at least learn to make sense when he chooses to use them. I shiver, but not from the cold. Just who is this boy? And what is wrong with his magic? “Well, let's go. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can sleep.”

He doesn’t move. “Hunt,” he says instead.

I raise an eyebrow.

He sighs. “You need to hunt,” he manages slowly and carefully. Then he smiles. “Rats missed you.”

My world falls in. No, no, no, no, no! This cannot be happening. He can't know. No one is suppose to know. How does he know? Why isn't he running? If he knew, why did he save me in the first place? He shouldn't have. I shouldn't be alive.

“Hey!” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Alright?”

I let out a wet laugh. “No I'm not alright. In what way am I supposed to be alright? I'm a monster! I'm dead already, my body just hasn't gotten the message yet. And yet here you are, acting like everything is alright. It isn't! If you knew, you should have never saved me. You would have been doing everyone a favor. Ridding the world of another monster. I. Should. Be. Dead!”

“No,” he says firmly. “No. Not monster. Not your fault. Not dead. Alive. You eat, breathe, smile. Alive. Not your fault you're turned. Didn't want it, didn't deserve it. Deserve life. Father said Natasha Grimm-Pitch was evil. Deserved it. Wrong. Never said she had a son. Just Old Families evil. Wrong. You aren't. Deserve life and happiness. Not dead. Shouldn't be dead. Pretty. Ever since the first time. Followed you. Pretty. Pretty boy.”

I listen, not believing what the mutt is saying. Not understanding all of it either, but I get the important part. Which is that he strongly disagrees with me. He is protecting the monster.

“Plus wicked fangs. Always wanted closer look.” Then he gives me the most pathetic puppy dog eyes I have ever seen. And that includes the ones my younger siblings use. What in the world? There is no way this boy is real.

“Please?” The patheticness increases.

I sigh. He really is a mutt. “Fine.” I pull my upper lip back. He gets closer. Right in my face. “Wicked,” he repeats. And he's serious. Where did Ebb find this stray? He lifts his hand, but I slap it down. “Don't touch them, are you an idiot?”

He pauses, looking up at my eyes. “Probably,” he admits and then goes back to staring.

Probably? No, not probably. Most definitely. He is a stray puppy who has been kicked too many times, yet still comes back. The mutt who never learns. Clearly. And in no way endearing either. No, not at all. He can whine all he wants he is not sleeping on the bed (maybe in it instead).

“Fine, let's hunt then.” I get up and he scrambles backwards. I summon fire and hold it above my hand. The boy stares at it distrustfully, but I have been doing this for years. Fire comes to me as easy as air. I always play with it. It is simply ironic that I am flammable. (And oh how easy it would be...)

The mutt continues to follow me like the puppy he is as I catch and then drain six rats. I can feel the blush becoming more prominent on my cheeks with each rat. The idiot won't look away when I tell him to. I turn around so he can't see much, but he still stares like my draining a poor animal of its life is the most fascinating thing in the world. Idiot. Adorable idiot.

“Done staring?” I ask sarcastically, feeling pleasantly full for the first time in months.

“Done eating?” he returns and would you look at that. A full sentence. It even makes sense.

I nod and he turns away. We exit the White Chapel and enter the Weeping Tower. Heading down until we are in the heart of the Tower, he stops at a door I hadn't noticed until now. My breath catches. It is still the same. Everything is the same down to the little carved badger in the top corner. There is no sign of damage. It is as if the vampires never ripped it from its hinges.

He turns and smiles. It is gentle and reassuring. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me in. He is stronger than he looks. Not that that would have stopped me if wanted to. I may not know exactly how much stronger I am compared to a human, but I know I am. But I am going to have to enter the room eventually, so I don't stop him.

He drags me into the center of the room and stops. I look around. Everything is the same and yet it is different. The beds are the same, the floor, the paintings along the ceiling. But it is so silent. It is suffocating. We are in the baby room. The room where it happened. Over there was my bed. Where I was bit. There was the last place my mother ever stood. Where the flames consumed her and the vampire.

It's so silent. So eerie. How can anyone breathe in here? There isn't enough oxygen. Not nearly enough. The the mutt squeezes my hand. I had forgotten he was still here. Still holding my hand. The fingerless gloves he wears itch slightly, but his fingers are warm and soft. He makes no move to pull away. Neither do I.

Then he pulls my arm again as we move into the next room. I don't remember this room. I never had a chance to move in here. There are different paintings, different carpet and there is a fireplace. Laying on one side of the fireplace are a couple of mattresses pushed together to make a decent size bed. Simon walks over and sits down. He is still holding my hand.

I don't want him to let go. “Are you ever going to let go of my hand?”

He blushes and quickly lets go, muttering something that might have been an apology. If it was words and not just sounds. But oh that blush. This is going to turn into a problem very quickly. I lay down, not caring that the mutt is still beside me. I close my eyes and sleep. The last thing I am aware of is blanket being pulled over top of me.

My sleep isn't peaceful. It is filled with voices and darkness and pain. I curl up as much as I can in my coffin. It hurts. It hurts so much. I can feel myself slipping away. There is nothing to hold me here and it is too dark and I am so hungry and it hurts so much. I slip away. But then something pulls me back. A hand in my hair. A nonsensical humming. Soft fingers. I hold on.

In the morning I wake to find the mutt wrapped around me. Our legs are tangled and my hair is in his mouth. He has a vice grip on my torso. I don't move. I lay there, letting him hold me. I should move. I should push him away. The mutt shouldn't be sleeping on the bed. Instead I soak up his warmth. And he is so very warm. It is like having my own personal space heater.

What is happening? First I was kidnapped by numpties and held in a coffin for two months. Then I was rescued by a mutt whose magic seemingly defies all known rules and laws. Then I find out my mother tried to Visit me, but then Visited the mutt instead because I was missing. Apparently I now have to avenge her death because there is more to it than a simple vampire attack (as if it was simple to begin with). I am allied with this mutt and the goat herder to do so. And now I am wrapped in his arms like his favorite cuddly. And I don't mind.

The only explanation is shock. The shock of everything is finally catching up to me. Why else would I be letting this strange boy this close? I may be gay, but I have never found anyone that I want. Never reacted to anyone like I am reacting to this mutt. So it is shock. Obviously.

It's not like I can actually like him.

  
  


** Simon **

  
  


I wake up with Baz in my arms. It's nice. Even nicer than when Ebb wraps her arm around me. His hair is in my nose and I can smell him. He smells like cedar and citrus something. Not orange or lemon. Something different, but those are the only two citrus fruits I know. It's good.

I'm not sure if he is awake or not, but I don't want to ask. I don't want to let go. No one has ever touched me like this. Father use to give me hugs. He use to twirl me around. But he never put his arm around me like Ebb. Or let me wrap my arms around him, like Baz. It's warm. Not Baz. Baz is cool, but there is a warm feeling in my chest. I like it as much as I like holding Baz.

I keep still, letting him rest. He is so pale. More pale than usual. It makes me worry. I want to protect him. Natasha told me to, but I want to anyways. I want to keep him safe. I want him happy and healthy. Is this want protectiveness feels like? I think it is. I have never realized it before, but I have always felt protective of Baz. Ever since I first saw him. Ever since I first knew he existed.

I have to protect him. And that means from Father too.

I don't know what Father would do to Baz if he found him weak like this. It horrifies me to wonder, but I have to. I never would have thought anything bad about Father a couple of years ago. But Ebb has been talking to be, especially lately. Ever since she found out what was under my gloves. Ever since she helped me heal.

She says it's wrong. She says he shouldn't ignore me. Father should provide for me. I should have enough to eat. I should have clothes that are whole and fit. He shouldn't hurt me. There is no excuse for it. It doesn't matter if he is trying to fix me. He has no right to hurt me, to scar me. The rituals are wrong. I should be safe with him. I shouldn't be afraid of him.

Ebb tells me I'm not broken.

I never know what to think when she tells me this. I trust Ebb. Ebb is smart. She doesn't lie. But how can she be so sure? It is all that I have ever known. It can't be that bad if Father is still doing it after all these years. He may not pay attention to me anymore, but that's because he is busy. He is trying to help me. He still cares. Doesn't he? And how well does she really know me? Father raised me, he knows me best. Shouldn't he know the best way to care for me as well?

But Ebb seems so sure that he is wrong. And Baz. He had the same look on his face when Ebb mentioned Father. Does he think something is wrong? What? Why?

Regardless, I know I have to protect Baz from Father. Father wouldn't understand. He thinks every member of the Old Families is evil. I'm not so sure anymore. Baz doesn't seem evil to me. He's grumpy. He's a vampire. But he doesn't seem evil. He seems sad.

I want to stay with him. I don't want to leave. That means I am going to have to decide what to do about Father. About going back to the cottage. There is a good chance Father won't even notice. He has been coming home less and less. And when he does, he doesn't seem to notice me anymore. So I should be fine. Hopefully. Baz is worth the risk.

He stirs against me and settles again. His breathing is steady. Still asleep. Good. He needs it. He looks like death – too pale, too thin, haunted eye. Rest is what he needs right now. Rest and food and blood and peace. He needs to heal before we do anything about his Mum. He needs to build up his strength again.

Holding him is peaceful. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. When I wake, Baz is moving again, this time clearly awake. He moves away, sitting across from me instead. I miss the warmth already.

He looks at me closely, like he is trying to read my mind. “Mutt,” he greets.

Mutt? Did I miss something? I don't understand why he is calling me that. I should probably mind, but I don't. I'm sure there are worse nicknames out there. “Baz.”

He raises an indignant eyebrow. “ _ Baz _ ?”

I shrug. “Easy t' say. Real name too long.”

He looks absolutely dumbfounded. Like he can't imagine anyone ever shortening his name. Like no one ever has. The he sighs, resigned. “Better than Ty, I suppose.”

I nod. “Baz better than Ty,” I offer him a smile and he rolls his eyes. What does that mean? Neither Father nor Ebb use that expression. “What mean?”

“What does what mean?”

I roll my eyes like he did.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Merlin and Morgan help us all.”

Oh. I can understand why someone would roll their eyes instead if that's what it means. Much simpler. But to use their names, does that mean he knows the stories? I still love those stories. They still make me happy to read them. “Know them?”

“Do I know Merlin and Morgan personally? Don't be an idiot mutt.”

No. “Stories.”

“Of course I know the stories. Everyone with half of a brain knows the stories. They are a classic.”

“Favorite.”

“They are your favorite stories?”

Yes.

“Well at least there's that,” he says, but I don't understand why. He seems almost ...relieved... that I know them. Why would he be relieved? That doesn't make any sense.

“Father use to say I was Arthur. But wrong. Not. Broken. But still like them.”

“Why would you be Arthur? He doesn't have magic. Shouldn't you be Merlin?”

No. “Arthur with magic. Powerful. Destined. Chosen. Father was Merlin. But not, not Merlin. Wrong. Not Merlin. Not Arthur. Arthur is hero. 'M not.”

“Obviously not. Arthur could string more than two words together at a time. He was a true leader of men – an inspiration. He wasn't an idiot. And you are. Of course you aren't Arthur.”

I look away from him. It's true. I know it's true. I've known it's true for years. But hearing Baz say it hurts. Which is stupid. Hearing the truth shouldn't hurt.

He sighs. “An idiotic hero.”

I look at him from the corner of my eye.

“Well you saved me, didn't you?” He doesn't look very happy saying this. His mouth is twisted into a grimace. But he is saying it. He means it. “After all,” he adds, “even idiots have to get lucky somethimes.”

I smile. Grumpy, but nice. Hero. I laugh. I've never thought I'd be one. I'm too broken to be one. But I'm Baz's hero. Even if I'm never a real hero, I'll still be Baz's hero. I think that is the best kind of hero of all.

“Just don't let it go to your head, mutt.”

I grin at him. “Won',” I promise, even if it already has.

He sighs and lays back down.

“Hungry?”

“No mutt. I've only been starved for the last few months. I'm not hungry at all. Why would you think that?”

Definitely grumpy. “Get some. Stay here.”

“Oh no. You are not leaving me here. I will not hide in the corner like a scared littlun. I am coming with you. I am a Pitch. I will not be a coward.”

Yes. “A Pitch. Means important. Kidnap important. Save strength. Rest now, fight later. Win later 'cuz strong. Go now and too weak. Lose. Pick battles. This is war. Be smart.”

He stares at me and then snorts. “Obviously I shouldn't go. That actually made sense.”

I rub my neck self-consciously. “That bad?” I ask carefully. I know talking isn't something I'm good at, but Ebb never complained about it. Sure, if I want to say more than one sentence it gets choppy. That doesn't mean I'm not understandable. Does it?

He sighs again. I wonder if he knows that he does that a lot. “We'll work on it,” is all he says.

Great. I stand and head towards the door. “Be back. Stay safe.”

“I'll trying not to decapitate myself with a splinter while you're gone.”

Sassy.

  
  


** Baz **

  
  


He leaves and I sigh. Then I run my fingers through my hair, pulling it for good measure. Damn boy. Damn mutt. Him and those puppy dog eyes of his. I have never seen anything so pitiful as him. Someone forgot to bring him in from the rain for far too long and now he radiates pitifulness.

First he calls me Baz like it is the most natural thing in the world. Like he has a right to shorten my name. He doesn't. No one does. No one ever has. They never use my first name. My Mother wanted to name me Tyrannus. It is a family name. But Father doesn't like it and people don't use it. Everyone uses Basilton instead. The closest anyone has ever come is Basil and that's Fiona, so it's to be expected.

Until the mutt that is. Of course he would probably butcher Basilton anyways. I shudder to think of it. At least this way, even though he is butchering it, it is still understandable. Who knows what it would sound like otherwise.

I am going to teach him how to talk correctly. This cannot continue. Obviously no one has ever taken the time to truly teach him. The goat herder may have tried, but she didn't do a very good job of it. I will. What else do I have to do? Apparently I'm not allowed to go to class. I have nothing but time.

Although I hate to admit it, but it does make sense. After I translated what the mutt was saying, it did make sense. So he can be logical. He may be an idiot, but he isn't stupid. He just needs someone teach him how to express himself better.

And that's another thing. He is an idiot. And he never said anything against it. But that look he gave me when I told him he was this last time. It was like I just killed his kitten and he was resigned to the fact that I had. If he had a tail it would have been tucked between his legs. Pitiful. It was like I kicked a puppy myself.

Was it because I was comparing him to King Arthur? He has to know he isn't anything like the legendary king. Not even when he was Wart. It is a childish dream. Fairy tales aren't real. I should know. There is no such thing as happily ever after.

But I couldn't stand that look on his face. And he did technically save me, no matter how impossible it seems. Not that he is my hero. I'm not the damsel in distress in this scenario. I am the dragon. Still, the look on his face.

Shock, it's just shock. I can't actually like the mutt. Impossible. There is nothing endearing about him or adorable or hot or attractive. He is pitiful, an idiot, torn around the edges. He can't even speak. His magic smells like fire and brimstone. So what if it's not his fault his Father can't be half arsed to take care of him? It doesn't matter that I have always been drawn to fire, that I can make fire easier than I can breathe. It means nothing that I want to kiss those three moles on his cheek. That his eyes are the clearest blue I have ever seen. It doesn't.

I can't get better fast enough.

  
  


** Simon **

  
  


The first thing I do when I leave Baz is go back to the cottage. We are going to need food. I can get some from Ebb. She has long ago taken to feeding me, so she always has enough for the two of us. But I still eat at home as well. I don't want to be a burden. And there is food at home. Father may not exactly be the best at remembering, but he always does. Eventually.

So I pack up all the nonperishable food I have. (Which is all of it. It's easier, that way.) Next I pack some of my clothes. The best ones I have. The jeans with only one hole in the knee. The shirts that are only a little frayed at the hems. I stare at the clothes and for the first time feel truly inadequate. Baz always looks so collected, so posh. So put together. Even when he hunts in the catacombs. No wonder he sneers 'mutt' at me. I am, next to him.

He is a purebred. If he had his choice, he would have nothing to do with me. Why would he? Why would he even look twice at me? I am nothing. Even my own Father knows I'm broken. I may be fascinated by Baz, but that does not mean he will return the feeling. Once he knows how broken I am, he won't want to be around me either. I still don't understand why Ebb does. (She tells me I'm not broken. I don't believe her.)

A couple extra pair of fingerless gloves. These were the last gift Father gave me. Because I asked for them. It was my thirteenth birthday. He was happy. He had thought he finally found the right ritual. There was a strong reaction out of my magic, like my eleventh birthday. Last year had been a disappointment, but now, he thought he had it.

He had just carved a pentagram into my left hand. I remember staring at it, watching the blood drip from my hand. It was hypnotizing, in its way. Drip. Drip. Drip. A river of red. As long as I watched the blood, I could ignore the pain. It was manageable.

I asked him for my fingerless gloves then. Of course he guessed why I asked for them. He told me I shouldn't be self-conscious. He said I should be proud. It was proof that I was special. That I had a great destiny. But he bought me them – four pairs. Four pair of black fingerless gloves, that stretch so I can still wear them as I grow.

I was so thankful for them. I was even more thankful after Father realized my magic was still broken. He hasn't gotten me anything since. But he gave me the gloves. And I still wear them. Ever since that day, I always keep my hands covered.

The only exception is when Ebb saw my right hand after my sixteenth birthday. I had managed to hide the pentagram from her. But I couldn't hide the sigil burnt into my hand. It took longer to heal than the pentagram. It hurt more. And I had run out of food. I needed to eat.

She had demanded to know what happen when I had to cradle my hand to my chest after I bumped it against the table edge. I told her I was fine. I didn't want her to know. No one could know. They couldn't know how broken I was. Ebb knew, but not how much. And she couldn't know the rest. But she insisted. The swearing jumble that came out of my mouth when I hit it probably didn't help either.

She healed it. She found out what the sigil meant. Archangel Michael, the protector. She fed me and hugged me. But after that, she really started talking to me about Father. Before, I knew she didn't exactly like him, but after that she made a point to talk to me more. Have me think about everything. Question things. Encourage me to think for myself.

She pushed, where she never pushed before. Not too hard. Not more than I could take. But she pushed. I still don't understand exactly, but I might be starting to. What other reason do I have for hiding Baz from him? Because I don't trust Father with Baz. I don't.

But still, Ebb only saw it that once. And she doesn't know about the others. She won't. And neither will Baz. I won't let them.

So I pack my clothes and the food in a bag. I don't want to have to keep coming back here. I don't want to chance it. As a last thought, I add some of my books to the bag. My books. Books I grew up with. Not Father's research books.

Then I go to Ebb's. She isn't there, watching the goats instead during the day. I make some sandwiches and add some fruit to the bag. I know Ebb won't mind, but I am worried. I never wanted to be a burden to her. And hopefully feeding Baz as well won't too much for her. Of course, I can always cut down on my portions. It's not like I'm not use to not getting enough. I can take it. Baz needs it more than I do.

Ebb may not be happy about it, but she doesn't have to know. As long as I don't eat in front of her, she won't. And since I plan on eating with Baz, I won't. It'll be fine. It's not as if Baz knows how much I eat.

But I can't be around Baz all the time. I can't take it. I still can't be around Ebb all the time. I start to twitch and fidget and get angry. I may be better now then when I was younger, but I still need time by myself. And Baz will too probably. So I need something for him to do besides be with me.

But what? At least if I had school books, I could make it up to Baz for keeping him from class, no matter how necessary it is. Wait, school books! And notes. It's a risky idea, but it could work. Well, risky to me anyways. It's probably stupid. But so is my magic and it always works best when I do stupid things.

I pick up a couple of sandwiches and wrap the rest up. Eating them on the way back to the nursery, I avoid the other students easily. As I open the door, I see Baz laying down, asleep again. He looks much more peaceful now. Last night he woke me up with his nightmares. I gently run a hand through his hair before placing the food next to him and leave again.

When I am outside I go to one of the trees, climb up it and wait. If I'm right, she should sit here after lunch. I can't believe I am going to do this. I can't believe I am going to talk to another person. What am I thinking? I can barely talk to Ebb and I've known her for years. I certainly can't talk to Baz. Now I want to talk to someone else? A stranger? But I am and all for Baz. (And because her hair is pretty.)

Right on time, I see her making her way towards the tree. She always studies under this one. It is out of the way and peaceful. Her hair is brown this year, but it is still streaked with blue and purple. I grin. Awesome. She sits down and opens her bag.

Not knowing exactly what I am doing, I swing down to sit on the bottom branch. “Hi,” I say. 

She startles and looks up. “Hi,” she echoes back.

I grin. “Nice hair.”

“Thank you. Who are you?”

“Simon.”

“Simon... ?”

Again. Why does everyone want to know my last name? Why is it important? I shrug.

“You don't know or you don't want to tell me?”

I grimace. “First. Not important. Question. Can I have copies of your notes?”

She blinks at me. “Who _are_ you?” she demands. “Do you even go here?”

No. But... “Been here... years. Alright.”

She crosses her arms. “It doesn't seem alright. No one should be able to just _be_ here.”

I shrug. “Magic broke so don' go. But,” I shrug again, feeling frustrated, “Ebb knows me.”

“ What do you mean your magic is  _ broke _ ? That doesn't make any sense.”

“No. It don'. But is. Not work right. Too little or too much. Have to fix it 'for I can come. But here anyways. Not important. Question.”

She stares at me, analyzing me. Then she holds out her hand. “Penelope. Call me Penny. You might be the most interesting thing about this school right now.”

I grin. “Simon. But secret.”

“You are a secret from everyone but Ebb?”

Yes. Well, technically Ebb and Baz, but I don't want to tell her that.

“You don't talk to many people, do you?”

No.

She – Penny – looks thoughtful. “Why do you need my notes?”

“Read 'em. Bored. Learn.”

“Even though you haven't had any other classes?”

“Fine. Not an idiot.” Well, technically I am, but she doesn't need to know that. They aren't for me anyways, so it's not like it matters. 

“I never said you were. Home schooled?”

Yes. In a manner of speaking.

She nods. “Alright. But only if you keep talking with me.”

“Why?”

“I told you, you are interesting. And Ebb wouldn't let you hang around if you were dangerous. Now, do know what happened in Elocution today?”

No.

“Do you want to know?”

“What?”

Penny talks with me until supper time. It's odd. I have never talked to anyone else this long before besides Ebb. And Ebb doesn't gossip. Not really. She may tell me stories about the students, but they are just that. Stories. With Penny it is gossip intermixed with lessons and information and things she has read. She smiles a lot and laughs.

She even told me the spell she uses to color her hair. But I think I might let Penny do it for me instead. I don't trust myself to point my wand at my head. All I have to decide what color I want. Baz will have a fit. I grin. Grumpy.

“Same time tomorrow?” she asks as she packs up her things.

Yes.

“Great.” She waves as she walks away.

Huh. So that's what it's like. It's... nice. Warm. I like it. I drop to the ground, gather my copies of the notes and go back to the nursery. Baz is up, reading one of my books when I enter. He looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“You have leaves in your hair,” he drawls.

Oh. Oops. I set the notes next to him and run my fingers through my hair. Leaves cover the blanket. Baz grumbles. “Tracking mud through the house. Making a mess of the floor. Idiot, don't get them on the bed. Crowley, mutt, you aren't actually a dog. Try not to act like one. And what are these?”

“Notes.”

“Notes. How helpful. From what and where? And why do you have them in the first place?”

“Class notes. For you. From Penny. Talked. Nice.”

He sighs. “You acquired notes from... Penelope Bunce … for me? And you think she is nice? Or that talking to her was nice? Because if you talk to her like you talk to me, I almost feel sorry for her.”

“Grumpy prat. Yes. First. So can still learn.”

I sit down next to him.

“History, Elocution, Magic Word, Astrology, Political Science,” he mutters as he flips through them. Then he looks at me. Just looks. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Then, “Well, I suppose you aren't completely useless after all. Good dog.”

I grin. Dog joke aside, I'm glad he is happy. I'm glad it worked. It was worth it. Now I can add another person to the list. Ebb. Baz. Now Penny. I have people.

Baz gives me an odd look and shakes his head. “Eat up mutt,” he tells me.

I pick up an apple and bite into it. Yum. I eat it core and all before eating another. Baz is still eating carefully, uncomfortably. He pushes the plate towards me. “Here.”

No.

“Simon, I saw you eat seven sandwiches yesterday. I know you can eat more. Eat.”

No. “Fine. Ate earlier.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “And what did you have earlier?”

“Sandwiches.”

“And how many sandwiches?”

Why is he pushing? Why does it matter to him? It shouldn't. He shouldn't even be talking to me. The lady and the tramp. Or, more like, the gentleman and the mutt. He said so himself. So why?

“Simon.”

He called me Simon... “Two.”

“Right. Here.” He hands me another. “Eat,” he commands.

I eat. Grumpy. Demanding... caring? Weird. Nice, but weird.

“Good. I hardly need you fainting on me from hunger. You're no use then.”

But the way he watches me makes me think there is more to it than that. Maybe... The tramp got the lady after all, didn't he? I smile.

After we are finished he grabs one of my books. “Alright mutt. Lesson time. Here.”

He hands me my copy of King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table. I look at him, confused. Lessons? What is he talking about? He can hardly tell me anything about this book that I don't already know. This was my first book on the Arthurian legend. I basically have it memorized.

“You are going to read it out loud.”

What? No. He is always complaining that I can't talk and now he wants me to read out loud to him? I don't have to be smart to know he'll regret this sooner or later. No, not sooner or later. Just soon. Even I can't stand the sound of my own voice after a while.

He looks at me, waiting.

No.

“Just the first story.”

No.

He sighs. “Simon.” (Again.) That's all he says. But the way he says it...

I open the book. “After... wicked King.... Vortigern had... first invited... the Saxons to... settle in Britain and...” I start carefully. Baz leans against my shoulder, following along. Nice.

  
  


** Baz **

  
  


As I wait for Simon to return, I lay back down. I hope it's soon, I'm hungry. Again. I cannot wait to finally have enough to eat all the time. Being starved for two months is hardly my idea of a good time. Not that I have ever associated numpties with a good time before. They are even more disgusting than the stories say. A chill runs down my spine. Right, happy thoughts right now. I don't need to give myself another bloody panic attack. Especially not here. I already feel on edge without thinking about it.

My thoughts stray towards my family. They must be beyond frantic by now. A night out clubbing and I never come back? My parents are going to be out of their minds with worry. Especially my Father. Aunt Fiona will be tearing town and countryside up, looking for me. My siblings will be worried. Or at least Mordelia will. The littluns may not understand what is going on, but Mordelia will, the nosy brat. She'll probably complain I wasn't there to play with her, next time I see her. 

Everyone else will alternate between trying to find me, trying to find who is responsible and blaming the Mage. Because everything is always the Mage's fault, even when it's not. But it usually is. My family complains that he calls himself a revolutionist, but is really a dictator. I never see any reason to doubt them. He has made too many changes to our world and so many of them are against us – anti Old Families regulations. He says we are what's wrong with the world, but he discriminates against us as much as we ever did against anyone else. Hypocrite.

I hate hypocrites. If you are going to be blatantly classist, at least have the bollocks to admit to it. Bloody bastard.

Somewhere along my mental rant, I fall asleep. It is more peaceful than the night before, with no nightmares. Or not any that I can remember. I can still tell they are there, lurking along the edges of my subconsciousness. At one point, I thought I felt a soothing presence, but when I wake, I am alone.

I can tell the mutt has been here and has left already, from the plate of food and the bag sitting next to the bed. I pick up a sandwich and look at the pile cautiously. Everything is thrown together in the bag, as well as spilling out of it. I browse through the books, ignoring the rest.

The mutt wasn't joking when he said he liked the Arthurian legend. That's all that is here. Everything from children's stories to the classics. Not a one of them is the actual history of the legends, just Normal fiction about it. It doesn't make any sense, but the mutt is starting to live to defy expectations. Or at least mine.

No sense in being bored. I pick up Le Morte d' Arthur and begin to read.

He comes bouncing in hours later with leaves in his hair and a grin on his face. I have the urge to pat him on the head and mutter 'good boy'. Especially after he gives me Bunce's (because how many 'Penny's are there in the school?) notes. Pathetically adorable. I push the plate towards him. He needs to eat.

So of course the idiot is stubborn when I tell him to. Of course. It would make too much sense for him not to. I am determined to help him, so naturally he wants to make it difficult. I can't begin to imagine why he is hesitating so much over a bloody sandwich. Although I hope he can get more than just them. Otherwise they are going to get old fast.

And the look on his face when I tell him he is going to read out loud. And I thought I was panicking earlier. He looks terrified. But he is not going to learn if he does not practice. And this way, he already knows what to say. I'm not sure he can actually keep a conversation going at this point. Certainly not one with full sentences.

It is painful, to be honest. It is like teaching Mordelia to read all over again. Only Simon can read. I can tell he can, but he has to go so slow to pronounce everything correctly, it sounds like he doesn't. Well practice makes perfect. And what is practice without pain?

I am relieved when he finishes, but I don't show it. He was self-conscious enough already, without me pointing out how bad that was. His cheeks are stained bright red. He won't look me in the eye. His blush makes his moles stand out even more. I want to kiss them.

Instead I stand up.

“Going?” he asks, as if he just hadn't been practicing full sentences.

“Up to visit the Mage. Hunting mutt, what do you think?”

He scrambles up. “Coming too.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you are.”

After I hunt and Simon watches me with far too much fascination, we go to my room for a shower before returning to the nursery. I make up my own bed across from Simon, determined not to make sleeping with him a habit. No dogs on the bed. But during the night the nightmares come back. I shiver with the cold and the pain. Then I feel a warm body slide in next to me and give up.

The mutt can stay.

  
  


** Simon **

  
  


As the days go on, we set a routine. We eat breakfast together and then I leave to give us both some privacy. I'll stop by to see Ebb to report in and take some more food as needed. (“Take as much as you need. I get it from the kitchens, so it's no problem.”) Then I explore or people watch until I meet up with Penny. She gives me her notes and we talk until supper. Then I go back to Baz and we eat together, read together, hunt together, shower (“In mutt, I won't have you getting fleas in the bed.”) and then sleep.

It's easy. Warm. I like it. It makes me feel good, seeing Baz slowly get better, day by day. Not by much, but the color returns to his cheeks. He doesn't look quite as thin. The shadows under his eyes fade. But he still has a limp.

Baz hasn't tried to sleep by himself since the first time. His nightmares had woken me up again and I went over to comfort him. When running my hands gently through his hair didn't work, I slid under the covers and wrapped my arms around him. He moved closer when I did.

It's nice. Baz is nice. He tries to hide it under his grumpiness and sass, but he is. As the days go by, we also get closer. The warm feeling keeps growing. It seems different now then when I first felt it, when I first saw him. I don't know what it means, but I want it to continue. Maybe I'll ask Ebb... or Penny. I'll ask Penny instead. Penny won't tease me about this. Ebb will. She still makes those boyfriend jokes when I visit.

Mean.

Before I realize it, more than a month has passed and it is a week from Samhain. I am not looking forward to it. I am going to have to go home. I can't risk missing it. There are days Father is more likely to come home and Samhain is one of them. Even if we truly hadn't celebrated it in years. When I was younger, besides celebrating the two solstices and equinoxes, we always celebrated Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane and Lughnasadh. Now, he is more likely to do another ritual, but that still means I have to be there. Even if he never shows up. 

I don't want to leave Baz alone.

The time passes quickly for me, but Baz is starting to get restless. He becomes even grumpier and sassier as the days pass and no progress has been made. Well, no progress with his Mother's avengement. And that is the only progress he cares about now. Not getting better or keeping up with his school work. I can understand, but I am still worried. If Ebb doesn't talk to Nicodemus soon, I'm afraid Baz is going to do something stupid. At least he doesn't know who Nicodemus is to go talk to him himself. I can't imagine that going well. (The two vampires of Watford.)

As he grows more restless, he gets more impatient. He snaps at me and taunts me and mercilessly tears into me. It hurts. I know he is frustrated and trapped and I am the only one here, but it still hurts. I wish he would stop. About the only time it is peaceful between us is when he is sleeping. He clings to me then. Still. Things would be better if he did the same during the day. The warmth in my chest makes it ache all the more.

“And just what do you think you are doing mutt?” he snarls one evening when I reach out and grab his hand, stopping him from pacing. His limp is getting worse.

I shrug and twine our fingers together.

He tugs his hand, trying to pull it away again, but I tighten my hold. “Well isn't that just so useful. A shrug. As if that isn't an entire three quarters of your vocabulary. Shrugging. The other quarter is inane stuttering and nods. Aleister Crowley. What a bloody useless mutt you turned out to be!”

I stare at the ground, but still don't let go.

He tugs again, without success. “Let go you bloody damn idiot of a mongrel!” he demands.

I don't. “Miss you.”

“What do you mean you miss me? I'm right here. I never left. And that's the whole problem isn't it? I am still bloody trapped here, waiting for you and that bloody goat herder to get your heads out of your arses and realize how important this is. I know tortoises that are faster than you. They would have made more progress than the two of you have. So for once in your bleeding life use. Your. Words!”

Use your words. Suddenly it isn't Baz standing there. It is Father. It is Father and he is angry and disappointed and upset that once again I can't talk properly. I didn't use complete sentences. I'm not expanding my vocabulary. I need to speak up. Speak up. _**Speak up!**_ No. No, no, no, no, no, no. I back away and whimper.

“S'rry, s'rry Fah’r, s'rry, ple'ze s'rry! 'M s'rry!”

Wrapping my arms around myself, I wait for the yelling to start. The lecture. The spell. The feeling of words pouring out of me without my control. No. Father will be so angry. Can't talk right. Can't speak correctly. Sorry, I'm so sorry Father. I'm trying to be a good boy. I am!

“Simon! Hey, hey, no it's fine. It's alright. Come on mutt, Simon, it's me. It's just me. I'm not angry, I promise. Simon.”

I open my eyes to find Baz kneeling down in front of me, eyes frantic.

“Simon?”

Yes.

He nods back and slowly, so slowly, wraps his arms around me. It takes a couple of minutes, but then I wrap my arms around him in return and bury my head in his shoulder. He doesn't say anything more, just runs a hand up and down my back. We stay there for a long time. The warmth comes back. I take a deep breath, breathing in the scent of cedar and citrus something.

“Better?”

Yes.

He still doesn't let go. “Mutt... Simon... who is your Father?”

I freeze. No. No one can know. No one. Father will be so angry if he finds out I told someone. Even Ebb still doesn't know. I can't tell him. I can't. I shake.

“None of that,” he chides, running a soothing hand along my back. “It's alright. I'll protect you from him. I promise. No one should be that afraid of their parent, it isn't right. I'll help you, I promise. But I need a name. Just a name Simon. I'll take care of the rest.”

No. No, I can't tell. Not only will Father be angry, so will Baz. If he finds out who Father is, he'll hate me. I have heard enough anti-Mage rants by now. I can't have Baz hate me. I can't take it. I need him. He's my friend. No, Penny is my friend. Baz is more... my best friend... my warmth. Something more. He is my more. (I still haven't asked Penny about the warmth. I should have.) I can't lose him. I tighten my hold on him.

He doesn't say anything. He just waits.

“Hate m’,” I tell him eventually.

“You think I'll hate you because of who your Father is?”

Yes.

“That isn't your fault mutt. You can't decide who your parents are, it doesn't work that way.”

No, it doesn't. Still.

“Let me guess, someone anti-Old Families? Very pro-Mage? You did say that your Father told you Mother was evil.”

Yes, pro-Mage, you can say that. Pro-self.

“Do you believe that?”

No. Not anymore. Not about Baz. Not about Natasha Grimm-Pitch. (Probably.)

“Than it isn't a problem.”

“Still. Don' matter. Of age.”

“You are?” he sounds surprised. Too surprised. I'm not that young looking.

“Eighteen. Summer solstice.”

“And are you planning on going back to him? Or them. You never talk about your Mother.”

“Don' have one. Gone. Dead.” I shrug. “But trying t' fix me. Broken.”

“Fix you? There is nothing wrong with you.”

I smile. According to him, there are many things wrong with me.

“Nothing that makes you broken.”

“M' magic.”

“Defies all logic. That doesn't mean you are broken.”

Yes it does.

“Fine! You're broken. But so am I.”

No.

“Mutt, I am a bloody vampire, a drama queen and am now plagued by nightmares and a fear of the dark, among other things. Yes I am.”

No.

“But at least this way we match.”

Broken. We match. I can live with that.

“A name Simon.”

No. Not yet. At least not yet.

“Fine. Then don't go back. Or let me come with you and we can tell him to bugger off together. Promise?”

Maybe.

“Someday,” I promise.

He sighs. “Come to bed, you bloody mutt. I'm tired.”

That night, it is Baz who wraps his arms around me and not the other way around.

Nice.

 

** *** **

 

Samhain dawns bright and cool. Autumn is in the air even as the sun burns through the mist. The grounds are quiet as I cross the grass to Ebb's barn. I left Baz sleeping, with a note beside him. I know he is going to be angry with me when I get back, but I have to do this. I have to go home. Even if I take Baz's advice and tell Father to 'bugger off' I have to go back. (I could never tell that to Father.) At least this one last time.

Maybe, if Baz doesn't hate me after he finds out just who Father is, he'll let me move in with him. He has an empty bed. And after he graduates we can get a flat somewhere together. Maybe get a dog. He can go to college and I can... do whatever. Get a job. Our biggest problem will be who does the dishes.

It's a nice dream.

Ebb is already up when I walk in. “Alright Simon?”

Yes. Maybe. No, not really.

“What's the problem?”

“Going home.”

Ebb doesn't look happy about it.

Yes. I nod. “Baz too. Left note. Be back. Fine.”

She sighs. “If you say so. Breakfast?”

Of course. I eat a quick breakfast with Ebb and the goats before leaving. It is quiet when I enter. Too quiet. I forgot how silent the cottage is, living with Baz this last month. I didn't realize how he stopped it until he isn't here. I am use to the sound of his breathing, if nothing else. It is going to be a long day. I open Le Morte d' Arthur, thankful I brought it, and begin reading.

“It befell in the days... of Uther Pendragon.... when he was king of... all England, and so reigned... that there was a mighty... duke in Cornwall...”

  
  


** Baz **

 

I wake up to find Simon gone. The blankets are cold on his side and so is my back. Damn mutt. Where is he? Then I see the note.

 

Baz,

Gone home. Be back tomorrow. I'll be fine, don't worry. Sorry this isn't the time I promised. Next time.

Mutt

 

Well at least his writing skills are better than his speech skills. (Don't worry. Ha! Idiot.) I feel a smirk start to form at the word mutt, but I stop it. No. He isn't going to stop me from being angry with him. What does the idiot think he is doing? Why does he have to go home today? Why does he have to go home at all? It's unbelievable.

And he expects me to wait all day for him? Oh no. Not a chance. I am going to find him and then I am going to strangle him and then I just might kiss him. (If I don't bite him instead) Maybe that will get some sense through that thick skull of his. Or at least slow him down before he shoves me away. Either way, it'll be worth it.

I get up and stretch. I'll start with Ebb. She has to know _something_ about where the mutt lives. Or at least a place to start. Or maybe he let something slip to Bunce. Crowley, if worse comes to worse, I'm willing to try that stupid 'goosey, goosey' spell he always somehow uses. Even if it doesn't make logical sense. 

I squint as I step outside into the morning sun. It is the first time I have seen it since the mutt rescued me. It feels nice.

“Ah, there you are. And what perfect timing.”

I turn and there is the Mage standing behind me, smiling manically. My stomach drops. Oh Merlin, this is bad. How did he sneak up behind me in the first place? He shouldn't have been able to. I'm a vampire for heaven's snakes.

“You thought you could hide from me forever? Very naughty Basilton. But here you are now. Just in time.”

“In time for what?”

“Why, to fix my son of course,” he tells he cheerfully as he reaches for me.

That is the last thing I hear before everything goes black.

  
  


** Simon **

 

Father comes home in the afternoon, beaming from ear to ear. The sight makes me shiver. The last time I remember him being this happy, Natasha Grimm-Pitch had been killed. That time, everything was simple. It made me happy to see Father so happy. Now...

“Simon! I have done it! I have found a way to fix your magic. Permanently!”

I blink at him, shocked.

“I know I said this before,” he continues as if I had spoke, “but I was looking in all the wrong places. What a fool I was. It is so very simple.”

“What?” I can't help the hope that blooms in my chest. What if he is right? Has he really found a way to fix my magic? To fix me? Does this mean, if it works, he will love me again? My heart beats fast. I know what Baz would say to this, but I can't help it. He is my Father.

“You need something to stabilize your magic. An outside force. And I found just the thing to do it. I know this will work my boy.”

“Stabilize... then... it's... fixed?”

“Very good Simon. Very good. And yes. The entire ritual will be quite simple. You won't even need to bleed. I'm sorry I didn't think of this sooner. I know you are self-conscious about your scars. But it will all be worth it after tonight. You'll see.”

The way Father is talking, it sounds too good to be true. My magic can be fixed and I won't even have to be injured to fix it? But I still can't stop the hope.

“Come Simon. We are going to go to a special place to perform it.”

“Where?”

“Watford. That was part of the problem before. I should have realized. You were conceived at Watford, in the oracle’s room above the White Chapel. I should have known that's where the ritual would need to be performed as well. Fool. But no matter. I know now.”

“Conceived?”

“Yes, at the autumn equinox with your Mother, Lucy.”

“Lucy?”

“Yes. We went to school together. Unfortunately she died when you were born. Now come, we can't waste any time.”

I follow in a state of shock. Not only is Father confident that he can fix me, he just told me about my Mother. Lucy. He had never mentioned her before. And I knew better than to ask. But now. Lucy. My Mum. Who went to school with Father and died when I was born. Died, not abandoned. Dead. I feel elevated and sad. I never had a chance to know her. And now I know I never will.

It takes more than a few hours to get to Watford by Father's jeep. I could tell him I can get us there in seconds instead of hours, but I don't. I still don't want Father knowing. And what if it doesn't work? I'm so nervous right now, I'm not sure I can speak at all, never mind cast a spell.

So I keep silent and listen as he casts  “ _** Make way for the king!”  ** _ and “ _** Time flies when you're having fun!” ** _ . The latter spell shows just how excited he is, because I'm not enjoying myself. I fiddle with my gloves and watch the scenery go by outside instead. I have a bad feeling about this.

We arrive at Watford in the evening. No one is outside and I assume it is suppertime. Father guides me straight to the White Chapel and up into the tower room, via “ _ **Up, up and away!”.**_ I have to squint when he lets go of me. It isn't very bright and the only real light are candles. But when I see it, I gasp.

Baz.

Baz is in the middle of the room, unconscious. His limbs are spread out like he collapsed there, too exhausted to move. Eagle spread. Around him, a pentagram is painted on the floor. I shiver.

No. “What?”

Father smiles. “See, I told you it will be simple. I have everything ready for you.”

At the sound of his voice, Baz groans. He twitches and tries to move, but he can't. It is like he is tied to the floor by invisible ropes. “What?” he moans, opening his eyes. They widen as he realizes that he can't move.

“Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Natasha's little brat. Unfortunately he survived that day in the nursery. It was a pity at the time, but it has turned out to be a good thing now.”

Baz turns, eyes unfocused. “Don't talk about my Mother, you filthy beast,” he snarls.

“Temper, temper Basilton. No need to be so rude. You wouldn't want to make a bad first impression on my son, now would you?”

Our eyes meet. Baz's turn cold. I look away. I knew it. There was no way he could ever accept me. Not with the Mage as my Father.

“Now Simon, we should get started.” With that, a jeweled dagger is placed in my hand. “The whole thing is simple really. You need something to stabilize your magic. Basilton's magic will be that stabilizer. All you need to do is stab him in the heart and then place your hand over the cut. His magic will be yours by right of conquest.” He lays a hand on my shoulder.

I jerk back. “What?”

He nods. “Yes, I know. I'm disappointed I didn't think of it sooner myself. But in my defense, I never thought the solution would lie in the roots of the old Tam Lin ballad. Tithe! A sacrifice! How simple. A sacrifice of blood and you can reap his magic.” Then he turns to Baz. “How glad I am that I only had you kidnapped and not killed. I could have chosen someone else, of course, but this is so much more poetic.” He grins, unhinged. “Poetic justice.”

Baz spits. “Disgusting. Going to monologue me to death before your precious son can kill me? Typical as well. Why do all villains have to lay out their evil plans before they kill the hero? Don't you know that never ends well for you?”

“I am not the villain! You are! You're bitch Mother was! Oh how high and mighty on her throne she sat, judging the rest of us. But I showed her. I showed her! Who sent the vampires to Watford? Who started the Revolution? Who is now in charge? Me! I am the winner.” Father smirks. “Still high and mighty now, boy?”

Baz rolls his eyes. “I tremble in my shoes.”

“Well, no matter. You aren't going to be around much longer anyways. Simon. It's time.”

I take a step back. Baz doesn't have to tremble, I am doing that for him. No.

“Don't shake your head boy, do it! Don't you want your magic to work? Don't you want to be fixed? You have a great destiny ahead of you. You are the Chosen One. You are the Greatest Mage. But you can't be if you're broken. Finish this. Now!”

I take another step back, now very afraid.

“Useless!” Father starts to rant. A familiar rant. “Completely and totally useless. A failure. After all I have done for you, you can't do this one thing? This one very simple thing? I should have known. I don't know why I continue to bother. I had such high hopes. The ritual, the girl, the timing, everything was perfect. But instead of magic's Savior, I got you instead. A disappointment. A letdown. A cracked vessel. Broken. Useless. Worthless. Why can't you ever do anything right?”

“Fah'r-”

“You can't even speak right, you loathsome thing. You sound like an idiot.”

“Hey!” Baz shouts. “Leave him alone. He may be an idiot, but he isn't stupid. And no wonder. With you as a Father, I'm surprised he even has any braincells left. You don't tear a kid down, you build him up. Any moron knows that. If he's broken, than it's your fault, not his, you pathetic piece of shite!”

“Why you little-”

What happens next is a blur.

Father lunges for Baz. I grab my wand (for the first time, my instinct is to grab my wand). I point it at Father and shout  “ _** London bridge is falling down!” ** _ . The floor collapses underneath us. Baz is free, but also free falling. I manage to catch him in my arms and shout  “ _** Be safe!” ** _ . We hit the ground. Hard. The rest of the upper room comes down around us as I huddle over Baz, protecting him. Baz curses. I shiver. Everything rumbles. Then-

Silence.

I lift my head. “Baz-” I start and then stop, not sure what to say.

“You complete idiot!” Baz tells me, then pulls my head down and kisses me. It is clumsy and messy and our noses knock together at first before Baz tilts his head. We press our lips too hard together and more saliva than necessary is involved.

In other words, it is perfect.

“Yes,” I tell him when he stops and grin happily down at him.

He rolls his eyes. “Crowley mutt, you really are an idiot. But you're my idiot. And don't let anyone tell you different. We match, remember?”

I smile in agreement. “Match.”

  
  


** ************ **

** Epilogue **

** ************ **

** Simon **

  
  


And that's how the entire school found us. Two idiots grinning at each other amongst the rubble of the White Chapel.

Of course it's chaos after that. The air filled with shouts and questions.

“What happen?”

“Who are you?”

“What have you done?”

“Oh Merlin, is the Mage dead?”

The last pulled my attention away from Baz. I turned behind me and gaped. On the floor, not a meter from us was Father, lying on the ground, in a pool of blood. A piece of the rafters was sticking through his chest. He wasn't moving. Yes. The Mage was dead. Father was dead.

I killed him.

That was right when Ebb pushed through the crowds and stood in front of us. Penny joined her, her orange hair tied up in a messy bun. I was never so happy to see someone in my entire life. Except Baz. I am always happy to see Baz.

Ebb was the one who took over after that. The one who protected me from the crowd and then the Coven as everyone demanded answers. She did a lot of the talking. So did Baz. And Penny. I talked as little as possible.

The entire week after it happened is a blur in my mind. I can't remember it too well. Ebb says that's natural. Penny says it's shock. Baz just wraps an arm around me and holds me tight.

Everything came out after that. What Father did. His beliefs. How he told me I was the Chosen One. How he was responsible for the vampire attack at Watford. All of the rituals he performed. My scars. (Baz was furious. It was a good thing Father was already dead.) My neglect and abuse. My Mother. It turns out, amid all of Father's books, she kept a journal. That helped answer the questions no one had any answers to. It was a mess.

Afterward there was no new 'Mage' elected. Penny's Mum took over as Headmistress. The Mage's death was ruled as accidental self-defense. I wasn't held responsible. I got to meet my family. The Salisburys. My grandmother, Ruth. Cousins. A uncles. I got to meet Baz's family. His parents. Siblings. Aunt. They looked like they couldn't decide if I was fascinating or some kind of freak show.

Overwhelming.

Through everything, Baz stayed with me. He never left my side. Ever. I was lucky he didn't drag me into the shower with him (although I don't think I would have minded that). I think he was afraid to let me out of his sight. Like if he did, I would disappear again. I didn't mind. I felt the same about him.

We came back to Watford, officially, after Christmas. My first Christmas. I did end up moving in with Baz. The professors tried their best to teach me, but my magic still didn't work. After the third explosion, they gave up and filled in other educational gaps – math, science, history. They tried speech as well. They gave up on that too, after I had my second panic attack. They left speech and magic to Baz, Penny and Ebb instead.

I liked Watford, but I was glad to leave. Before, when I was younger, I thought of it as a second home. But when I joined officially, I found everything too much. It was too loud, too crowded, too much. Some days I didn't get out of bed. Some days neither did Baz. I felt bad that he wasn't top of the class because of me. He tells me not to be an idiot. It was obviously the Mage's fault. Penny got it instead.

And in the end, we do end up getting a flat together. Or rather, we move into his Aunt Fiona's flat because she didn't need it anymore. Penny occasionally stays with us, but she is planning on going to America, to be with her long term boyfriend there. Baz goes to school. I talk to a therapist.

I still don't know what I am going to do with my life, but that's alright. As everyone says, one day at a time. I'll get it eventually. Just carry on, one day at a time.

Sometimes I miss the days when I was younger, when everything was simpler. But I wouldn't trade my life right now for anything. Broken pieces and all.   
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Obnoxiously long author's note:  
> First of all, holy shit. This turned out to be a beast to write. Not only is it my longest story, it is probably the most canon thing I had ever written. Seriously, I marked my copy of Carry On up like it was a text book to write this thing. It looks like a bag of skittles right now. Because apparently I'm super paranoid about this fic. Why this one and not any of the other (Sherlock) ones I wrote? I'm not sure, but I felt like I had to be super justified in writing this. As if any fanfiction truly needs justification. That said, here is mine.  
> * The first thing you may be wondering is where is the Humdrum? Your answer, he doesn't exist in this fic. Why? It is a mixture of artistic licenses and twisted reasoning. So, Simon grew up with magic. He knew about it and used it to the best of his abilities. That meant there wouldn't have been a build up of pressure that caused him to go off the first time (or that's how I understood it). And, yes, the holes were happening before that, but artistic license, remember?  
> * How is the prophecy now fulfilled with you don't have the Humdrum? Take a look at this link right here: http://worldofmages.tumblr.com/post/139331587051/the-prophecy While not originally part of my way of thinking, I like it. This pushed me in a direction I had been considering before anyways. From the start, I had no idea what to do with the Humdrum. At. All. I had actually been considering cutting him anyways, if I could find a logical way to explain it. If I went with this theory, it made my life much easier. So I did.  
> * The nursery rhymes were a little over done, I know. But that was something that wasn't done much in the book (excluding the dragon scene, obviously) that was easy for me to use. In case you couldn't tell by my writing, I'm American. Using British English is the bane of my editing life some days. I try, but I do not always succeed. Ergo, the rhymes. That I got off of Wikipedia, so if there are any errors in that direction, blame that. Plus, you know, I needed something impossible for Simon's magic to be able to do. Here is the full version of the rhyme:  
> Goosey goosey gander,  
> Whither shall I wander?  
> Upstairs and downstairs  
> And in my lady's chamber.  
> There I met an old man  
> Who wouldn't say his prayers,  
> So I took him by his left leg  
> And threw him down the stairs  
> * Simon's way of talking. I tried. That's all I really have to say. He obviously wasn't going to be able to talk well, growing up as isolated as he was. I tried to make it realistic without being annoying or confusing.  
> * The Arthurian legend references. Yeah... those are a personal... indulgence, shall we call it, that got away from me.  
> * Part of the problem is my worry of making this believable, but still different from the book. This is probably my biggest fear for this. That it is too similar or that it couldn't happen. Which, in a way is ridiculous, I know. But on the other, completely valid.  
> But, for better or for worse, here it is.


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